Elated at his narrative, Adolphe laughed at the pleasantry which terminated it. “How two hundred years changes a man!” M. Longuet laughed at it. The supernatural and terrifying antithesis between Cartouche and Longuet, which had plunged him at first into the most melancholy fright, now incited him to make jests. His excuse was that he did not see anything to fear. He only found his case a little odd. He joked about it with Adolphe, and even resolved to no longer keep his true personality from Marceline. She was intelligent and would understand. He imagined that this personality would present dangers to himself and to society, but, behold! it existed no longer in the real condition, but only in his memory, as a vivid picture. He would not have to control Cartouche as he had dreaded; he would only have to ask him from time to time, some anecdote, which would help M. Longuet in conversation. The history of the Regent, M. Law, and of the courtesan, were sure proofs of that condition of the soul. How it had glided from his memory without effort! What evil, then, was there in that? After all, if he had been Cartouche, it was not his fault, and it would be very foolish in him to be angry about it. He even joked about the fortune. At midnight they made their way back to Paris. As they arrived at the station St. Lazare, M. Lecamus asked him the following question: “My friend, when you are Cartouche, and you take your walks in Paris, and you see the life of Paris, what astonishes you most? Is it the telephone, or the railway, or the Metro, or the Eiffel Tower?” Théophraste replied, “No, no. That which astonishes me most when I am Cartouche is the police force.” CHAPTER XIII _The Cat_ |IT seems that the destiny which controls the lives of men, takes a diabolical pleasure in preceding the worst catastrophe by the serenest of joys. Thus is it often that we are warned of the tempest by the calm. Thus in the beginning of the misfortunes of Théophraste, Marceline and Adolphe, there was something which was not of very great importance in itself—the strange behavior of a small black cat.