IN WHICH ARE SHOWN THE GOODNESS OF MOTHER
MICHEL AND THE WICKEDNESS OF FATHER
LUSTUCRU.
Mother Michel, worthy of the confidence which had been reposed in her,
displayed for Moumouth a truly maternal tenderness; she tended him,
coddled him, took such pains with him, in short, that he became one of
the most beautiful cats in that quarter of the town where the cats are
magnificent. She watched over him constantly, gave him the choicest bits
to eat, and put him to bed at night on the softest of eider-down quilts.
Fearing that he might fall ill some day, and wishing to inform herself
concerning the maladies to which cats are liable, she procured various
books on that important subject; she even went so far in her devotion as
to read the "History of Cats," by Francois-Auguste Paradis de Moncrif, a
member of the French Academy.
The conduct of Mother Michel had no low motive of personal interest. She
gave scarcely a thought to herself, the good old soul! Content with
little, she would always have enough to live on; she required nothing but
a small room, brown bread, a supply of wood in winter, and a
spinning-wheel. But she had nephews and nieces, god-children, whom she
hoped to be able to help; it was to them that she destined in advance the
gifts of Madame de la Grenouillere.
The continually increasing prosperity of Moumouth exasperated Father
Lustucru. He saw with a sort of dread the approach of the hour when the
faithful guardian would be rewarded; he dreamt day and night of the means
to prevent it,--to carry off her four-footed pupil, and bring down on her
the wrath of their mistress. By dint of indulging his hatred and envy in
solitary reflections, he ceased at last to draw back at the prospect of
committing a crime.
"How," he said, "how rid the house of that miserable cat? What arms shall
I use against him? Fire, poison, or water? I will try water!"
This resolution taken, he thought of nothing but to put it into
execution. It was difficult to get possession of Moumouth, of whom Mother
Michel rarely lost sight; and Moumouth, too, not having the slightest
confidence in the steward, was always on the defensive. Lustucru watched
during several days for a favorable occasion.
One night, after making an excellent supper, Moumouth curled himself up
near the fire in the parlor, at the feet of Mother Michel, and slept the
sleep of the just with good digestion. In the midst of this, Father
Lustucru came into the room.
"Good!" he thought. "The cat sleeps. Let us get the guardian out of the
way."
"How amiable of you to come and keep me company!" said Mother Michel,
politely. "You are quite well this evening?"
[Illustration: Father Lustucru's Stratagem.]
"Perfectly; but everybody is not like me. Our porter, for example, is in
a deplorable state; he is suffering excessively from his rheumatism, and
would be very happy to see you a moment. You have gentle words to console
the afflicted, and excellent receipts to cure them. Go, then, and pay a
little visit to our friend Krautman; I am persuaded that your presence
will help him."
[Illustration: The Porter.]
Mother Michel got up at once and descended to the apartment of the
porter, who was, indeed, suffering from a violent rheumatic pain.
"Now for us two!" cried Father Lustucru to himself.
[Illustration: The Steward seizes Moumouth.]
He went stealthily into an adjoining room, walking upon the tips of his
toes, and took a covered basket which he had hidden in the bottom of a
closet. Then he returned to Moumouth, whom he seized roughly by the neck.
The unfortunate animal awoke with a start, and found himself suspended in
the air face to face with Father Lustucru, his enemy. In that horrible
situation he would have cried, and struggled, and called for assistance,
but he had no time. The odious steward plunged the poor cat into the
basket, quickly clapped down the solid cover, and ran rapidly to the
staircase, his eyes haggard and his hair standing on end, like a man who
commits a crime.
[Illustration: The Cat is plunged into the Basket.]
It was a beautiful night in February, with a clear sky and a dry, cold
atmosphere. The moon shone with all her brightness; but, at intervals,
great clouds drifted over her face and rendered the obscurity complete.
Father Lustucru was obliged to cross the garden, in order to pass out by
a small door, of which he had taken the key. He glided from bush to bush,
carefully avoiding the paths, except when the clouds veiled the moon. He
had half-opened the door, when he heard a sound of footsteps and voices
outside. He started back involuntarily, then stood still and listened.
[Illustration: The Steward hurries away.]
"What foolishness!" he said, after a moment of silent observation. "I had
forgotten that it was carnival-time; those are masqueraders passing."
[Illustration: He dances with Delight.]
It was, in effect, a band of masqueraders from the Palais Royal. Lustucru
waited until they were gone; then he hurried out. When he reached the
quay, in the joy of success, he began to whistle a dancing-tune and cut
capers; his transports resembled those of a cannibal who dances around
his victim.
[Illustration: The Cat is thrown into the River.]
He went up the Seine as far as the bridge of Notre Dame, in the middle of
which he halted, and holding the basket over the parapet, turned it
suddenly upside down, and launched the luckless Moumouth into the icy
waters of the river. The cat, in dropping through space, gave a cry that
seemed to come from a human voice. The assassin shuddered, but his
emotion did not last long. He thrust his hands into his pockets and said,
in a tone of bitter mockery,--
"Pleasant voyage to you, dear Moumouth; endeavor to arrive all right! By
the way," added he, "I think cats know how to swim; that brigand is
capable of getting himself out of this business. Bah! it is a long
distance from the bridge of Notre Dame to Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre!"
Reassured by this reflection, Lustucru continued on his way home,
re-entered by the door of the garden, climbed cautiously up to his room,
and held himself in readiness to enjoy the lamentations of Mother
Michel.
Mother Michel was detained some time by the porter; finally, she left
him, to give her cat the cup of milk and sugar with which she regaled him
every night.
She ascended to the parlor with measured steps, calmly, not anticipating
any catastrophe. Failing to see Moumouth in the place he had occupied,
she simply believed that he had smuggled himself behind the cushions of
the sofa. She looked there, and beneath the sofa, and searched under the
other pieces of furniture. Then, running to the staircase, she called:
"Moumouth! Moumouth!"
[Illustration: Mother Michel looks for the Cat.]
"He doesn't answer me," said she. "But when I went down-stairs, Lustucru
was here; may be he can tell me what has become of the cat."
She knocked without delay at the door of the steward, who pretended to
rouse himself from a deep slumber, and, in a gruff voice, demanded what
was wanted.
"Isn't Moumouth with you?"
"Does your cat ever come where I am? You know very well that he can't
bear me."
"Alas! where is he? I left him in the parlor, near the fire, and I cannot
find him."
[Illustration: She knocks at the Steward's Door.]
"Can he be lost?" said Father Lustucru, feigning the most lively
anxiety.
"Lost! Oh, no, it is impossible! He is somewhere in the house."
"He ought to be found," said the villain, gravely. "He ought to be
searched for this very instant. Moumouth is a precious animal, whose
merit makes it well worth while to wake up the servants."
All the inmates of the house were soon on foot, each armed with a candle.
They ransacked the nooks and corners, from the cellar to the garret, from
the court to the garden. Lustucru directed the operations with apparent
zeal. After ineffectual searches, Mother Michel, exhausted by emotion and
fatigue, threw herself helplessly into an arm-chair.
[Illustration: Every Nook and Corner is ransacked.]
"Alas!" said she, "I left him only an instant, and it was to do a good
action."
"I begin to believe that your cat is really lost," replied Lustucru, in a
severe tone. "It is a great misfortune for you! What will Madame de la
Grenouillere say when she comes back? She is capable of turning you out
of doors!"
[Illustration: The Shock is too much for Mother Michel.]
"Turn me out of doors!" cried Mother Michel, suddenly drawing herself up
to her full height. Then she sunk down again, her face grew pallid, her
eyes closed, and she fell back without consciousness.
Father Lustucru regarded her with a dry eye, and without feeling the
slightest remorse. He laughed, the infamous man!