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Updated: June 27, 2025
After a moment of silence and meditation, the Countess added, "Mother Michel, I confide my cat to you." "We will take good care of him, madame," said Father Lustucru. "Don't you trouble yourself about him, I pray you," interrupted the Countess. "You know that he has taken a dislike to you; your presence merely is sufficient to irritate him. Why, I don't know; but you are insupportable to him."
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.
This woman had sunken eyes, a copper-colored complexion, the nose of a bird of prey, and a face as wrinkled as an old apple. She was talking with a boy of thirteen or fourteen, covered with rags, but possessing a sharp, intelligent countenance. Father Lustucru thought he recognized the old woman, but without recalling where he had seen her.
Father Lustucru, animated by the nearness of his vengeance, did not remark what passed in the mind of his companion. Having thrown the sack rudely on the ground, the steward lifted his cudgel, and was about to strike when the small door of the garden opened. "How unfortunate!" he muttered; "Faribole, hide yourself in the hedge; I will come back here presently."
"It is he! it is he!" cried Mother Michel, seizing Moumouth in her arms. "Ah, my dear Lustucru! 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.
At the moment when he returned, the old woman was no longer to be seen; but the boy remained in the same place, seated upon a stone post, with his nose in the air, regarding the mansion of Madame de la Grenouillère very attentively. Lustucru approached him and addressed him in these terms: "What are you doing there, youngster?" "I? Nothing. I am looking at that mansion."
The response to this question was long coming; Faribole turned pale, his legs bent under him; finally he bowed his head, letting his arms droop at his sides, as if he had sunk under the weight of his destiny, and murmured, in a stifled voice: "Yes, Monsieur Lustucru."
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.
"Madame de la Grenouillère is absent, my little friend, and, besides, her house is full." "That is a pity," said the boy, drawing a deep sigh. Father Lustucru made several steps as if to re-enter, rested his hand upon the knocker of the door, then turned abruptly and walked up to the boy. "What is your name?"
He owed his excellent condition chiefly to Mother Michel, whom he held in affectionate consideration; he showed, on the other hand, for Father Lustucru a very marked dislike. As if he had divined that here he had to do with an enemy, he refused to accept anything presented by the steward. However, they saw but little of each other.
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