My reason, the fact of seeing the cat eating the stolen meat, my mother’s assertion, everything told me clearly enough that it was Frimousse that had frightened me so: still in spite of all, something within me seemed to deny the fact. Was it possible that Frimousse, our cat that I knew so well, could have appeared so enormous? Well, it was just possible perhaps; and now I began to fancy that there was something very strange about that cat. While she was eating, what fierce looks she gave me! Certainly there seemed something unnatural and odd—dreadful too—about her. And those strange glances which she gave me! Surely it was against _me_ that she cherished spiteful feelings! Then another idea came into my head: perhaps this cat, who gave me such vicious looks, was not a real cat? Perhaps, I thought, she has the power, at times, to take the shape of that fearful, that horrible creature which I saw on the staircase. If I had explained these foolish thoughts to my mother, I knew beforehand how silly she would have thought me, and what she would have answered. I knew also, beforehand that her answer would not convince me. Oh! how terrible it was! Still, I preferred to say nothing, and I kept my thoughts to myself to torment me. ------------------ VII. MONTÉZUMA AND CROQUEMITAINE. I THINK I know partly how this unfortunate and unhealthy state of mind began with me: this painful habit of seeing something extraordinary and terrible in the most simple matters, and of peopling the house with unearthly and mischievous beings. I think it came about in this way:— When I was quite little, I used often to be given in charge to my father’s orderly. He was a brave and honest fellow, and very fond of me. His name was Montamat, but everyone called him Montézuma. Unfortunately for me he possessed far more imagination than judgment. Whenever I was naughty or unreasonable, he would call for Croquemitaine; and as he was a ventriloquist you may suppose it was not long before a conversation commenced with _this_ extraordinary person, who used to reply to the questions asked of him from the dark, mysterious, and fearful regions of the kitchen chimney sometimes; or sometimes from the bottom of my porridge bowl, or again sometimes from the inside of a drawer in the table close to where my little chair was placed. As I believed most implicitly in Croquemitaine’s existence, Montézuma made me do exactly as he liked by this means. Just fancy! here was a man who appeared to me to be on the most intimate terms with a mysterious and supernatural being! A man who could summon this being at will, and, at a single word, send him off again about his business, just at the moment when, almost mad with anguish, I feared, yet longed, to see the mysterious being appear to me. Our discussions would always end in the same way when I had been naughty.