On her shoulders couched a Persian cat, of great size, with long hair. It had been white originally, but Madame Berthier had dyed it saffron; the saffron stains were on her grey hands, as she wrought with her threads. The appearance of the cat was unpleasant, for being by nature an Albino, its eyes were pink, and they seemed unnaturally faint, when contrasted with the vivid colouring of its coat. The cat sat very composedly on her shoulder, with its round yellow face against hers, and its paws dangling on her bosom. ‘Be patient, Gabriel,’ said she to the cat, who moved uneasily on her shoulder, as his quick ear caught the sound of steps in the corridor. ‘We must all acquire patience; it is a heavenly virtue, but it is, oh! so hard to obtain.’ Berthier tapped at the door, opened it, and introduced himself and Gabrielle. The cat rose, balancing itself nicely where it had been reposing, set up its back and tail, stretched itself, and then re-settled. ‘Well now, madame,’ said Monsieur Berthier; ‘making cradles still, I see.’ The lady worked vigorously with her threads, and did not look up or answer her husband. ‘Look this way, Madame Plomb.’ She threw up her head, bit her lower lip, and stamped her foot impatiently. As her eye lit on Gabrielle it remained fixed, and her complexion became more deadly. ‘I have brought a new servant to attend on you,’ continued Berthier. ‘Are you listening to me, Madame Plomb?’ Again she stamped, but she would not speak. ‘You will take great care of her, my Angel! and you will pay especial regard to her morals, mind that, my Beauty! I have promised her father that she shall be under your charge, and that you shall take care that she be virtuous and pious.’ Madame Berthier would neither look at him, nor speak to him. He knew that she struggled daily with herself to maintain composure, and to restrain her tongue, in his presence, and he amused himself inventing a thousand means of insulting and irritating her, till he had wrought her into frenzy. ‘I am sure you will like this new addition to your little staff,’ continued the Intendant, placing his large hands on Gabrielle’s shoulders, and thrusting her forward. The girl cowered under his touch, and an expression of horror and loathing passed across her face. Madame Berthier, whose eyes were fastened on her, saw this and laughed aloud. ‘What! not a word for your Zoozoo! Cruel madame, not to look at, or speak to, your own devoted husband.’ No; not a look or a word. The poor wife sought to ignore him. She began diligently to weave her cat’s cradles, though her eyes still rested on Gabrielle. Maybe she trembled a little, for the yellow cat mewed fretfully, and shifted its position slightly, then rubbed its head against her blue cheek, as if beseeching not to be disturbed.