The Story of a Cat Part 4

During the whole day l.u.s.tucru amused himself by giving her false exultations, which were followed by increased despondency.

"Mother Michel," said he, "just now, in pa.s.sing the store-room, I thought I heard a kind of meyowing."

Mother Michel hastened to visit the store-room.

Presently he came to her out of breath, and said:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ill.u.s.tration: Mother Michel encounters nothing but Rats.]

"We have him at last! I am nearly certain that he is rummaging in the cellar."

And Mother Michel ventured into the gloomy vaults of the cellar, where she encountered nothing but rats.

It was near the close of the day that l.u.s.tucru p.r.o.nounced these words, which a popular song has happily preserved for us:--

"Oh, Mother Michel, Your cat is not lost; He is up in the garret A-hunting the rats, With his little straw gun And his sabre of wood!"

The words were full of a bitter raillery, which Father l.u.s.tucru was unable to disguise. To pretend that Moumouth was hunting rats with his little straw gun and his wooden sword was to suppose something quite unlikely, for n.o.body ever saw a cat make use of such arms. But the agonies of Mother Michel had so confused her mind, that she noticed only what could give her a gleam of hope.

"He is in the garret!" she cried, without paying attention to the rest of the verse. "Let us hasten there, my dear sir; let us search for him. Give me your arm, for I am so nervous, so troubled, so hara.s.sed by fatigue, that I have not the strength to get up alone."

[Ill.u.s.tration: She searches the Attic.]

The two mounted to the garret, and Mother Michel, lantern in hand, searched in the attic and under the roof. Silence and solitude reigned everywhere.

"You are again mistaken," murmured Mother Michel.

"No, no," replied the malicious man; "let us continue to hunt, we shall finish by finding. We haven't looked there--behind those f.a.gots."

The credulous Mother Michel advanced in the direction indicated, and--to the great stupefaction of l.u.s.tucru--the cat, which he believed drowned, appeared in full health and strength, and fixed its gaze upon him indignantly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "It is he! It is he!" cried Mother Michel.]

"It is he! it is he!" cried Mother Michel, seizing Moumouth in her arms.

"Ah, my dear l.u.s.tucru! my good and true friend, how I thank you for conducting me here!"

The steward had scarcely any taste for compliments which he so little merited. Pale-faced and cold, he hung his head before his victim, whose preservation he could not explain to himself. It was, however, a very simple thing: Moumouth, pursued by the dogs, succeeded in leaping from the wall, and, pa.s.sing from gutter to gutter, from garden to garden, from roof to roof, had reached his domicile; but, dreading the resentment of his enemy, he had not dared to appear, and had hidden himself in the garret.

"Am I the dupe of a nightmare?" said Father l.u.s.tucru to himself. "Is it really that rascal of a Moumouth that I have there under my eyes, in flesh and bone? Isn't it his ghost that has come back to torment me? This cat, then, is the evil one in person!"

The cat was not the evil one--Providence had protected him.

CHAPTER V.

IN WHICH THE CAT CONTENDS SUCCESSFULLY AGAINST HIS ENEMY.

The events we have recorded indicate very clearly the position of our personages. Fearing to lose both the well-beloved cat and the advantages she was ambitious to obtain, Mother Michel redoubled her vigilance and attention.

Moumouth, knowing henceforth with whom he had to deal, promised himself to avoid the steward, or to fight him, if need be, with tooth and nail.

As to Father l.u.s.tucru, it was enough that his projects had been defeated, in order that he should persist in them with desperation. He now wished the destruction of the poor and innocent cat, not only on account of his jealousy of Mother Michel, but because he hated the cat itself.

"Oh, what humiliation!" he said to himself, with bitterness. "I ought to hide myself, retire to a desert, and bury me in the bowels of the earth!

What! I, Jerome l.u.s.tucru, a grown man, a man of knowledge and experience, a man--I dare say it--charming in society, I am vanquished, scoffed at, taken for a dupe, by a cat of the gutter!... I leave him at the bottom of a river, and find him at the top of a house! I wish to separate him from his guardian, and I am the means of bringing them together! I lead Mother Michel to the garret to torture her, and there I witness her transports of joy! The cat I believed dead reappears to defy me!... He shall not defy me long!"

And Father l.u.s.tucru remained absorbed in deep meditation.

[Ill.u.s.tration: l.u.s.tucru meditates.]

Moumouth had not yet dined that day, and he made it plain by expressive miauing that he would very willingly place something under his teeth.

Presently, Mother Michel said to him--for she spoke to him as if he were an intelligent being,--

"Have patience, sir; we are going to attend to you."

She descended to the parlor, which she habitually occupied since the departure of Madame de la Grenouillere, and the cat, who accompanied Mother Michel, was clearly displeased at seeing her take the road to the chamber of l.u.s.tucru. Nevertheless, he went in with her, persuaded that in the presence of that faithful friend the steward would not dare to undertake anything against him.

At the moment she knocked at the door, Father l.u.s.tucru was taking from the shelf a green package which bore this label: _Death to Rats_.

"This is the thing," he said to himself, thrusting the paper into his vest. "_Death to Rats_ should also be _Death to Cats_. Our dear Moumouth shall make the trial.... What can one do to serve you, my good Mother Michel?"

"It is five o'clock, M. l.u.s.tucru, and you forget my cat."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Green Package.]

"I forget him!" cried the steward, clasping his hands as if very much hurt by the suspicion, "I was just thinking of him.... I am going to prepare for him such a delicious hash that he will never want another!"

"Thanks, Monsieur l.u.s.tucru! I shall inform Madame, the Countess, of your care for her favorite. I have received a letter from her this very day; she sends me word that she shall return shortly; that she hopes to find Moumouth in good condition, and that she has in reserve for me a very handsome reward. You comprehend my joy, Monsieur l.u.s.tucru! My sister is left a widow with four children, to whom I hand over my little savings each year. Until now this a.s.sistance has not been much; but, thanks to the gifts of Madame, the Countess, the poor children will be able to go to school and learn a trade."

In p.r.o.nouncing these words the eyes of Mother Michel were moist and bright with the most sweet joy,--that which one experiences in performing or meditating good actions. The steward, however, was not affected. He had so given himself up to his evil pa.s.sions that they completely mastered him, and had by degrees stifled all generous sentiments in his soul, as the tares which one lets grow choke the good grain.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Come, let us go!"]

One would have said that Moumouth understood this man. The cat approached Mother Michel, who had seated herself to chat awhile, and looking at her with supplicating eyes, pulled at the skirt of her robe, as if to say to her:--

"Come, let us go!"

"Take care!" said the good creature, "you will tear my dress."

Moumouth began again.

"What is it? Do you want to get out of here?" asked Mother Michel.

Moumouth made several affirmative capers in the air.