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 Grenouillère.

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?"

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."

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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!"

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."

She knocks at the Steward’s