'I shall get well much faster now I have a soft sweet grey cat to cuddle,' said she. 'I wonder how Mr. Fox knew that? And to offer _himself_ as a messenger, of all people! I don't believe he had _any_ business engagement in Paris at all, I believe it is pure philanthropy!' Presently an official came and argued with her in French. She was very sweet to him, on the principle that a soft answer turns away wrath, and sure enough she worked it, for presently he said sharply, '_Passez, Mademoiselle!_' which means 'Go on.' Mr. Fox had examined his luggage, and was waiting for her on the other side of the barrier. 'Oh, why did you wait?' she said. 'I should think now I have Loki with me you would want to give me a wide berth?' 'I don't _want_ to,' said he, 'but my unfortunate peculiarity is sure to assert its sway over me. Let me, at least, put you into a cab.' 'And shall I not have the pleasure of seeing you while you are in Paris?' 'I am afraid I must not venture to come and see you and risk a scene?' He laughed; he had a nice laugh. 'But will you be very kind, and come to lunch with me to-morrow at Durand's? I go back at night.' 'But,' she said, 'I thought you said you had to be in Paris on business, and that was why you would bring me Loki? That is what Daddy assured me you said when he told you I was pining for him.' 'I can get through the business I have to do in the morning before lunch,' said he, quite shortly, and whisked us into a cab and paid it, and told the man to drive us to Rue Chauvau La Garde. Miss Florence Pettigrew--that was the name of the woman who kept the _pension_ Auntie May had settled to go to--was a pretty, very little woman, and reminded me somehow of the Manx cat, she seemed shortened somewhere, somehow. She opened the door to us and I heard her greeting Auntie May, and took a dislike to her at once from the basket. I didn't like her any better when I was taken out. I'm sure she had a wooden leg. 'Well, so that's the cat. I hope he means to have good manners in my flat. I don't want my nice new furniture torn to bits, you know, Graham.' That was Auntie May's surname, but I had never heard her called that before. Auntie May was shown to her room and asked if she would have hot water, but she sat down on the bed and cried, and cuddled me, and said, 'Well, Loki, this is life!' I thought she didn't like life much just now, when we went in to dinner. Manxie, as I always called her, kept telling us that she had had to get fish on purpose for Auntie May, but she couldn't afford it for herself. No, what she had was three-pennyworth of meat a day for herself, and that was enough for any woman. I thought she seemed more like a Manx cat than ever, with her daily allowance of cat's meat, for she couldn't have got proper people's meat for that price!