At last she partly opened the apron, saying:
"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for venturing to bring him here—but he never goes out, poor dear, and I thought it would do him good."
"What do you mean, Madame Potrelle? have you got a child in there?"
"No, monsieur, no; it's one of my cats, Bribri, the youngest one. The others let him be and won't ever play with him, just because he limps a bit, poor little rascal! He's got a little trouble in his leg. Cats are as bad as men; they turn up their noses at the weak ones! That's why I wanted to give the poor dear a little pleasure."
"You did well, Madame Potrelle; let Bribri run about a little, if you wish."
"You see, monsieur, my cats are well brought up; they ain't capable of forgetting themselves, no matter where they be."
"I am sure of it."
The concierge opened her apron entirely, and a small black and white cat escaped from its folds and scuttled under a piece of furniture.
"Well," I said, "have you seen Madame Landernoy?"
"Yes, monsieur; when she found out that you'd given me more money than she'd put in her bill, she wouldn't take it, and she almost got mad with me. It was no use for me to say: 'The gentleman always pays that price;' she said that didn't make any difference to her. The only way I could make her take the money was to tell her that you had other work for her to do and she could let it go on that.—Well! on my word! there he is on the couch now! Bribri! you mustn't get upon that, you scamp!"