"Now none of your sermons, you know, for if you come on with anything like that I'll be leaving at once," and it was clear that the Breton's bad humor was returning. "Well, that would be to your disadvantage on a cold day like this," said Celestina with a dry little smile. "That's a fact, that's a fact. Brr! What weather!" and the poor drunkard drew closer to the fire. "Aren't you two afraid to go out in such a snowstorm?" he said, turning to Paula and me. Celestina answered for us that we lived in the big house at "The Convent," and that we had come to deliver a good warm dress for her to wear. With that the good woman poured out three cups of coffee, which she set before the Breton, Paula and myself. "And where's yours?" said the Breton as he swallowed his coffee in one great gulp. "Oh, some other time I'll have a cup myself." "Well, just as you please," said our unwelcome guest. "My! but that warms one up though! My wife never so much as thought to get me a cup of coffee." "And do you know why?" questioned Celestina severely. "I suppose you're going to tell me it's because I don't give her enough money; is that it?" "Precisely! And that's the truth; isn't it?" "Now none of your sermons, as I told you in the beginning; didn't I? Don't I know? Of course it troubles me to see the children with their pale faces, that used to be so rosy and fat like these two here. By the way what's your names?" Again Celestina answered for us--"The smaller girl is the daughter of Monsieur Dumas, and the other is her cousin, Mademoiselle Paula Javanel." "Paula Javanel! Paula Javanel!" repeated the Breton as if trying to remember something. "I think I've heard that name before," and he looked fixedly at Paula for some seconds, and then suddenly he laughed immoderately. "Yes, yes; now I remember! Ha! ha! ha! Now I know! You're the 'Cat Mother'!" "Cat Mother!" and Celestina looked much puzzled. "What on earth do you mean?" I had completely forgotten the ridiculous nickname that the Breton's son had given her, for the boy had run away from home several years ago. "They called me that," explained Paula, "because I once saved a cat's life." But the strong coffee had quite restored the Breton's good humor and he hastened to add, "Yes, she did; but she hasn't told the whole story! She's the only person in the whole village that was ever brave enough to stand up to that big brat of mine. She wrenched the cat out of his hands, and the boy came back to the house, I remember well, with a pair of ears well pulled and the air of a whipped dog." "But I didn't pull his ears," said Paula, reddening. "Well, if you didn't, who did, then?" But Paula shook her head and would say nothing further.