"I mean just what I say, signori! I went to your bedchamber to make up the bed, and the cat accompanied me as usual. Suddenly I heard a whining and mewing, and when I looked around, supposing she had hurt herself in some way, I saw her--but come and look yourselves. It is a miracle, signori! A miracle!" She sprang up, rushed to the door of the bedchamber, opened it, looked in, and beckoned to the two friends to approach. "Softly, softly, signori; do not disturb her!" Goethe and Moritz walked noiselessly to the door, and looked into the adjoining room. There, on the antiquated wardrobe, opposite Goethe's bed, and illumined by the sunlight that poured in through the broad window, stood the colossal bust of the almighty Jupiter. In front of this bust, full of beauty and regal composure, stood Madame Abazza's gray cat, upright on her hind feet. She had laid her forepaws on the god's broad breast, and stretched her neck so that she could gaze into his majestic countenance, and touch with her tongue the lips with their godlike smile, and the beard with its curling locks. She kissed his divine lips ardently, and zealously licked his curly beard, stopping now and then to gaze for a moment at his royal countenance, and to utter a tender, plaintive mew, and then renewing her attention to beard and lips. Goethe and Moritz looked on with smiling astonishment, the old woman with pious dismay. "Come to me, pussy," cried the signora at last; "come to me, my little pet, I will give you some milk and sugar; come!" But call and entreat as she would, the cat would not allow herself to be disturbed in her devotions, not even when Goethe walked heavily through the room and stepped up to the wardrobe. She continued to kiss the god's lips and beard, and to utter her plaintive mews. Signora Abazza, who was standing in the door-way, with folded hands, now protested that the cat sang exactly like Father Ambrose when he officiated at the morning mass, and that her heart, the signora's, was filled with pious devotion. "I must, however, bring this cat-mass to an end," cried Goethe, laughing, "for if the cat continues her devotions much longer, another miracle will take place: the divine locks will dissolve, and the lips, so expressive of wisdom and majesty, will be nothing more than shapeless plaster. Halloo! father cat, away with you! You shall not transform the god into a lump of plaster!" With threatening tones and gestures he frightened the cat down from the wardrobe, and drove her out of the room. Goethe and his friend then returned to the parlor. "Wonders are the order of the day," said Moritz, thoughtfully, "and we are surrounded by a mysterious atmosphere of dreams and tokens." "Only when we are dreamers," cried Goethe, laughing. "To the unbiassed there is nothing miraculous, to them all things seem natural." "How can you explain the cat's rapturous devotion?"