“But he shall not escape me,” thought the wicked steward, and keeping this idea always in his mind, he bought a package of rat-poison, and, as he hid it safely away, he cried to himself, “This ‘Death to Rats’ shall soon be ‘Death to Cats!’” The next day, when Mother Michel brought up Moumouth’s dinner,--good chicken patties,--Lustucru sprinkled poison all over them. Moumouth, hungry as he was, refused to eat, and Mother Michel, vexed at last with the whims of her charge, said: “Well! If you don’t eat those patties, Sir, you’ll get nothing else for dinner! Why, I’ve a good mind to eat them myself.” “Oh, don’t!” cried Lustucru, jumping up in alarm. “A Christian should not eat food that’s been prepared for an animal.” “Well,” replied Mother Michel, “either the cat eats those patties, or he goes hungry.” And hungry poor Moumouth did go, all that day and all the next, living on scraps which the cook threw to him. But eat the poisoned food the clever cat would not. So the patties stayed locked up in Mother Michel’s cupboard, and they were soon forgotten, except by Lustucru. He had failed so often to kill Moumouth himself, that he knew he must try some other means. And Fate, which isn’t always kind to cats, threw just such a chance, he thought, in his way. One morning, as he was returning early from market, he saw a little ragged boy gazing hungrily at the open kitchen, and, no doubt, wishing himself well inside. “What is your name?” asked Lustucru. “Faribole, Monsieur,” answered the little boy, making a low bow. “And what are you doing here, spying in my mistress’s windows? Are you thinking that you would like to be one of her household?” “I was, indeed, Monsieur,” answered Faribole. “Could you tell me if there is any need of a scullion, for I would willingly do any work, I am so hungry and homeless.” “I am the steward,” said Monsieur Lustucru, proudly, “and I alone have the power to engage you. This I will do if you will promise to obey me in all things.” “Oh, I will do your bidding in everything,” the little fellow pleaded. “Then,” said the steward, “follow me, and I will instruct you in your duties.” When they were safely in the house, Lustucru turned to Faribole and said, “Do you see that cat?”--pointing to the sleeping Moumouth. “You must try to make that creature your friend, for he is the chief pet of our mistress, Madame de la Grenouillière. Make him love you, make him your friend, and all will be well.” For a month Faribole played with Moumouth; he coaxed him, he petted him, and, at last, completely won the cat’s heart. Moumouth would have followed him anywhere. At the end of a month’s time, Lustucru called the boy to him. “You have done all I told you to,” he said, as if he were very much pleased. “And now shall I stay here always, Monsieur?” Faribole asked eagerly.