. . . . “Do you remember the doll given to us by our mistress, which soon became a subject of discord. How you used to scratch me. Oh dear! I almost feel my back bleeding when I think of it. How I used to complain of you to my mother when you so persistently called me a story-teller, but I got no satisfaction. It is from this point, this little wrong, that all my miseries sprang? Indignant at repeated miscarriages of justice, I resolved to fly from you and seek a happier home. Ascending to the roof, the heaven of cats, I viewed the distant horizon, and determined to wander to its furthest limit. The prospect {288} for a kitten so young was not tempting. I foresaw many dangers to which I would be exposed in making my way into strange lands. I remember . . . . I seemed to hear choirs of voices in the air— [Illustration] “ ‘Do not cry, Minette,’ whispered a voice—no doubt that of my evil genius—‘the hour of your deliverance approaches. This humble dwelling is an unworthy shelter for one born by nature to adorn the halls of a palace!’ “ ‘Alas,’ replied a voice softer and more musical—that of my conscience—‘You mock me, sir, I am a lowly maiden, a palace is no place for me!’ “ ‘Beauty is queen of the world,’ continued the first. ‘You are extremely beautiful, therefore you are queen! What robe is whiter, what eyes brighter than yours!’ “ ‘Think of your mother,’ said the pleading voice. ‘Can you forget her? Can you forget your sister Bébé?’ “ ‘Bébé makes you her slave, and your mother does not love you. You are a child of misfortune. You have been reared by chance. Chance is your foster-mother. You are alone indebted to chance. Come, Minette, come, the world is before you. Here is misery and obscurity, yonder, riches and fame!’ “My good angel in vain tried to picture a future of darkness and despair. The love of finery took possession of my heart and sealed my doom! “The voice became more and more irresistible, and I blindly followed its commands. “I had fallen into a faint, but when I became conscious, judge my surprise to find that my charmer was no illusion. Before me stood a young cat gazing tenderly down on me. “Ah, Bébé, he was handsome! and his eyes sparkled with the flame of kindling love. He was the ideal cat of whom we sing when gazing on the moon veiled by the city smoke. At last, in a high-pitched rapturous voice, he exclaimed, ‘Divine Minette, I adore thee.’ I felt my tail expand at his audacity, but my heart expanded as if in unison, for I already felt that he was mine. Soon he settled down, his gaze riveted upon my face. You ought to have seen how humbly he begged for a single glance from me. How could I refuse his request, he who, perhaps, had rescued me from the terrible death of a fall from the tiles.