One afternoon father and I were walking in the garden. My father carried a long stick ending in an iron skewer, by means of which he unearthed snails and limaxes that were eating up the plants. Suddenly on the edge of the basin we noticed a little kitten drinking. We hid behind a thick shrub. "Child," my father said in a low voice, "go quickly, fetch my musket and come back. Be careful the cat does not see you." And squatting down, he moved apart the twigs of the shrub so that he might observe every movement of the kitten which, resting on its forelegs, its neck drawn out and wagging its tail, was lapping the water in the basin and turning its head from time to time to lick its mouth and scratch its neck. "Come on," repeated my father, "be off!" I pitied the little kitten. It was so pretty with its tawny fur striped with silky black, its supple and graceful movements and its tongue, like the petal of a rose, which pumped water! I would have liked to disobey my father, I even thought of making a noise, I wanted to cough, to brush the twigs apart rudely in order to warn the poor animal of the danger ahead. But my father looked at me with eyes so severe that I walked away in the direction of the house. Pretty soon I came back with the musket. The kitten was still there, confident and gay. It had finished drinking. Sitting on its back, its ears pricked up and eyes shining, it was following the flight of a butterfly in the air. Oh, what a moment of unspeakable anguish that was for me! My heart was beating so powerfully that I feared I was going to faint. "Papa! Papa!" I shouted. At the same time a sharp report was heard, which sounded like the crack of a whip. "Damned rascal!" my father swore. He aimed again. I saw his finger pull the trigger; quickly I shut my eyes and stopped my ears. Bang!! .... and I heard a mewing, at first plaintive and then sorrowful, oh, so sorrowful that one might have said it was the cry of a child. And the little kitten jumped, writhed, pawed the grass and did not stir any more. Of an absolutely mediocre mind, tender hearted, though he seemed indifferent to everything which did not appeal to his vanity or did not affect his professional interests, lavish of counsel, ready to render aid, conservative, of graceful carriage and gay, my father justly enjoyed the respect of everybody. My mother, a young woman of the nobility, had brought no fortune with her as a dowry; instead, she had brought with her powerful connections, a closer alliance with the petty aristocracy of the country, which was considered just as useful as an increment in cash or an acquisition of land. Although his powers of observation were very limited and he did not boast of any ability to read souls as well as he could read a marriage contract or explain the legal points of a testament, my father very soon realized the difference of birth, education and temperament which separated him from his wife.