‘Gabrielle,’ said Madame Berthier; ‘my dear child, we will seek your father, and ask him whether this is true. I do not believe it, do you, Gabriel, my angel!’ she turned her lips to the cat’s ear. The animal rubbed its chin against her mouth and purred. ‘I understand, my sweet! you wonder how the money came in at the window, do you not? Well, perhaps the good man was deceived by that beast, and, when he found out what sort of a man the beast was, he brought the money back; he could not get into the house at night, so he cast the silver through the window. Was it so, Gabriel? You are awake at night, you walk about in the moonlight, you can see in the dark; tell me, my seraph! was it so?’ Then catching the girl’s arm, she whispered, ‘Wait, I have not shown you the cat’s castle. You have seen his net and his coffer, his parlour, his pantry, and now you shall see his castle, in which we shall shut him up when he is naughty. That is his Bastille. Have you ever seen the Bastille, Gabrielle? No, of course you have not. Now come with me, and I will build you the cat’s Bastille.’ The unfortunate woman drew the little peasant-girl into her yellow room, seated herself in her high-backed chair, and in a moment had her fingers among the strings. ‘Take it off, Gabrielle,’ she said. ‘Come, Gabriel! sit quiet, and you shall see the pretty things we shall construct for you.’ The cat obediently settled himself into an observant attitude, with his head resting between his paws; Gabrielle drew her chair opposite Madame Berthier, and held up her fingers to receive the threads. ‘So,’ said the lady; ‘that is the net.’ She worked nimbly with her fingers.