At fifteen minutes to the appointed dining time, I was ready, and hastened below to talk once more with my father. He was in the dining room, instructing the servants as to the placement of the silver and accessories. My father was proud of the excellence of his table, and took all his meals in the splendid manner. His appreciation of food and wine was unsurpassed in my experience, and it had always been the greatest of pleasures for me to watch him at table, stalking across the damask and dipping delicately into the silver dishes prepared for him. He pretended to be too busy with his dinner preparations to engage me in conversation, but I insisted. "I must talk to you," I said. "We must decide together how to do this." "It will not be easy," he answered with a twinkle. "Consider Joanna's view. A cat as large and as old as myself is cause enough for comment. A cat that speaks is alarming. A cat that dines at table with the household is shocking. And a cat whom you must introduce as your--" "Stop it!" I cried. "Joanna must know the truth. You must help me reveal it to her." "Then you will not heed my advice?" "In all things but this. Our marriage can never be happy unless she accepts you for what you are." "And if there is no marriage?" I would not admit to this possibility. Joanna was mine; nothing could alter that. The look of pain and bewilderment in my eyes must have been evident to my father, for he touched my arm gently with his paw and said: "I will help you, Etienne. You must give me your trust." "Always!" "Then come to dinner with Joanna and explain nothing. Wait for me to appear." I grasped his paw and raised it to my lips. "Thank you, father!" He turned to Francois, and snapped: "You have my instructions?" "Yes, sir," the servant replied. "Then all is ready. I shall return to my room now, Etienne. You may bring your fiancee to dine." I hastened up the stairway, and found Joanna ready, strikingly beautiful in shimmering white satin. Together, we descended the grand staircase and entered the room. Her eyes shone at the magnificence of the service set upon the table, at the soldiery array of fine wines, some of them already poured into their proper glasses for my father's enjoyment: _Haut Medoc_, from _St. Estephe_, authentic _Chablis_, _Epernay Champagne_, and an American import from the Napa Valley of which he was fond. I waited expectantly for his appearance as we sipped our aperitif, while Joanna chatted about innocuous matters, with no idea of the tormented state I was in.