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Updated: June 29, 2025
I do not wish to yield to all his fancies, and I shall not give him anything else." The following day the hash was still uneaten. The steward had hoped that the cat, pressed by hunger, would have thrown himself upon the poisoned food; but Moumouth knew how to suffer.
"The cat shall be my friend, and I will be the friend of the cat," responded the young fellow, confidently. In effect, he showered on Moumouth so many kindnesses and caresses and attentions, that the cat, although naturally suspicious, conceived a lively attachment for Faribole, followed him with pleasure, teased him, and invited him to frolics.
Behind this bust was a round window, which looked upon the staircase; and just in front of the pedestal was the downy cushion that served as a bed for Moumouth, who would certainly have been crushed if the bust had taken it into its head to topple over.
"That is true," said Father Lustucru, with contrition; "but the cat is unjust, for I love him and he doesn't love me." "My sister is also unjust. Cats, perhaps, love her, and she does not love them. I respect her opinion. Respect that of Moumouth." Having pronounced these words in a firm tone, Madame de la Grenouillère addressed herself to Mother Michel.
This feat, although performed with address and in silence, attracted the attention of the baker's boy. "Hi! a cat!" cried the apprentice, arming himself with a scoop. The master-baker turned his eyes towards Moumouth, saw him devouring the mouse, and said to the boy: "Don't hurt him; he is doing us a service." "But where did he come from?"
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.
The health of Madame de la Grenouillère had been altered by the heavy shocks she had experienced in losing her favorite animals. The tenderness and graces of Moumouth would perhaps have been sufficient to attach her to life; but the respectable lady had reached an age when sorrows press very heavily.
To put an end to this painful scene, Mother Michel seized the cat by the shoulders and detached him from the carriage-cushion, to which he clung; the door closed, the horses gave a vigorous pull, and started off at a speed of not less than three leagues an hour. Moumouth rolled in a convulsion, and then fainted.
"Yes, Moumouth; I thought he was with you." "He just quitted me; some persons passing in the street made a noise that frightened him, and he leaped into the hedge."
Mother Michel went down to the garden and there found Faribole alone, seated upon a bench, and with a preoccupied air stripping the leaves from a branch of boxwood which he held in his hand. "My friend," said the good woman, "Madame, the Countess, desires you to bring Moumouth to her." "Moumouth!" stammered Faribole, starting at the name as if he had been stung by a wasp.
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