IN WHICH MOTHER MICHEL SEARCHES FOR HER CAT.
Several days passed in painful expectation; but the cat, like General
Marlborough, did not come back. The despair of Madame de la Grenouillere
was sincere, profound, and silent,--all the more intense because it was
suppressed. She continually pictured to herself the charming ways of
Moumouth, his natural goodness, his superior intelligence. No animal had
ever displayed to her so many brilliant qualities; not one of her
previous favorites had ever caused her such bitter regrets.
Generous in her misfortune, she did not reproach Mother Michel; on the
contrary, the Countess sought to comfort that poor woman, who had given
herself up wholly to grief. The Countess said to her one night:--
"What can you do against an irresistible calamity? The wisdom of man
consists not in struggling with unhappiness, but in submitting himself
to the will of Heaven."
"I am of your opinion," replied Mother Michel. "If I believed, like you,
in the death of Moumouth, I would resign myself without a murmur. But I
have the idea that he still lives; I picture him running through the
streets, the victim of ill treatment, with saucepans, may be"--
"Go to, Mother Michel, you deceive yourself; Moumouth is dead, otherwise
he would have come back to us."
"Something tells me that he is still in this world, and if Madame the
Countess wishes to have tidings of him, she has only to address
herself"--
"To whom?"
"To our neighbor, Madame Bradamor, that celebrated fortune-teller, who
predicts the future, removes freckles, reads in the Book of Destinies,
and charms away the toothache."
"Fie, Mother Michel! how can you, a sensible woman, have any confidence
in the juggling of an adventuress?"
"But, madame, I am not alone; the most distinguished people go to Madame
Bradamor; she is more learned and less dear than her rivals, and asks
only ten crowns to make you behold the devil Astaroth."
"Enough, for pity's sake!" responded the Countess, dryly.
Mother Michel remained silent; but she had made up her mind, and, the
first time she had a moment of liberty, she ran to the house of the
necromancer.
The fortune-teller occupied a spacious apartment richly furnished, for
she gained a great deal of money by cheating the public. Her
consultation-room was draped with hangings of black velvet sprinkled with
gilt stars; upon a square table, in the centre of the chamber, stood
painted tin obelisks, jars of electricity, retorts, and divers
mathematical instruments, of whose uses the pretended sorceress was quite
ignorant, but which she had placed there in order to impose on the
weak-minded persons who came to consult her.
She at first showed some embarrassment on beholding Mother Michel;
however, after having closed a glass door which communicated with the
other apartments, she returned to salute her new client, and said in a
solemn tone:--
"What is your desire?"
"To question the present, the past, and the future."
"I am the very one to satisfy you," replied Madame Bradamor; "but what
you demand is very difficult, and will cost you three crowns."
"There they are; I give them to you with all my heart."
Madame Bradamor, full of regret that she had not insisted on having more,
pocketed the money, and began in these terms:--
"What is the date of your birth?"
"The 24th of May, 1698."
"What are the initials of your name and the first letter of the place in
which you were born?"
[Illustration: Mother Michel pays Three Crowns.]
"A, R, M, N, L, S."
Madame Michel was named Anastasie Ravegot; the widow, since twelve years,
of Francois Michel, in life inspector of butter in the Paris markets; she
was born in Noisy-le-Sec.
"What is your favorite flower?"
"The Jerusalem artichoke."
After these customary questions, the fortune-teller examined some
coffee-grounds poured into a saucer, and said:--
"Phaldarus, the genie of things unknown, informs me that you are in
search of a being very dear to you."
Mother Michel bounded in her chair with surprise.
Madame Bradamor continued: "This being is not a man; it is a
quadruped--either a dog or a cat. Ariel, spirit celestial, reveals to me
that it is a cat."
Mother Michel was more and more impressed; without giving her time to
recover herself, the fortune-teller took a pack of cards, shuffled them,
cut them three times, then disposed them in a systematic order on the
table, and said gravely:--
"Your cat is the knave of clubs; let us see what happens to him. One,
two, three, four; ten of spades! He is a wanderer, he has a passion for
travel, he sets out at night to see the curiosities of Paris. One, two,
three, four; the queen of spades! It is a woman who manufactures ermine
fur out of cat-skin. One, two, three, four; the knave of spades! It is a
rag-picker. One, two, three, four; the king of spades! It is a
restaurant-keeper. The falling together of these three persons alarms me.
One, two, three, four,--clubs! One, two, three, four,--clubs again! One,
two, three, four,--always clubs. Your cat would bring money to these
three persons: the rag-picker wishes to kill him in order to sell the
skin to the furrier, and the body to the restaurant-keeper, who will
serve it up to his customers as stewed rabbit. Will the cat be able to
resist his persecutors. One, two, three, four; seven of spades! It is all
over, madame; your cat no longer exists!"
[Illustration: The Fortune-teller consults her Cards.]
"They have eaten him, the cannibals!" cried Mother Michel, sinking back,
and she fancied she heard a plaintive _miau_, the last agonized cry of
Moumouth. But it was not an illusion; a cat had miaued, and was still
miauing in the next chamber. Suddenly a pane of glass in the door
described was shivered to atoms, and Moumouth in person tumbled at the
feet of Mother Michel.
[Illustration: Moumouth appears.]
From the top of a wardrobe he had perceived his affectionate guardian; he
had called to her several times, and as she did not answer him, he had
thrown himself, in his desperation, against the glass door, through which
he had broken a passage.
"My cat was with you!" said Mother Michel; "you have stolen him! My
mistress is powerful; my mistress is the Countess Yolande de la
Grenouillere; she will have you chastised as you deserve to be!"
While making these threats Mother Michel placed Moumouth under her arm,
and prepared to depart. Madame Bradamor stopped her, saying:--
"Do not ruin me, I conjure you! I have not stolen your cat!"
"How is it in your house, then?"
"I have it from a little boy named Faribole; he got this cat for me,
which I have long desired to have, on account of his supernatural shape
and appearance, to figure in my cabalistic conjurations. This is the
truth, the whole truth. I beg of you that your mistress will not disturb
me."
[Illustration: "Do not ruin me, I conjure you!"]
"Madame the Countess will act as she thinks proper," responded Mother
Michel, haughtily; and she vanished with her cat.
She made but one step from the house of Madame Bradamor to that of Madame
de la Grenouillere; one would have said that Mother Michel had on the
seven-league boots of little Tom Thumb. She did not linger in the parlor,
when she arrived out of breath and unable to speak a word, but carried
Moumouth straight to the Countess.
On recognizing the animal, the Countess gave so loud a cry of joy that it
was heard as far as the Place de la Carrousel.
Lustucru assisted at this touching scene. At the sight of the cat he was
so dumbfounded that his reason wavered for a moment. He imagined that the
cat, so many times saved, was a fantastic being, capable of speaking,
like the beasts in the fairy-tales, and he said to himself with a shiver:
"I am lost! Moumouth is going to denounce me!"
[Illustration: Lustucru assisted at this touching Scene.]