He thought he was going to die of fright; he thought that a miraculous intervention was holding him back on the verge of a crime. He uttered a swift prayer in which he assured Heaven that he would not go on with it. However a quarter of an hour passed in the recovery of his scattered wits; and since he heard nothing more, he attributed these surprising happenings to the perturbation of spirit induced by his exceptional occupation. He took up the violet cat, which began to purr again. But this time the door of the study was flung violently open; and Signor Petito fell swooning into the arms of M. Longuet, _who expressed no surprise whatever_. M. Longuet contemptuously flung Signor Petito on the floor, dashed at the violet cat, caught it up, opened the window, tore his scarf-pin out of its head, and threw it into the street. "You beastly cat!" he cried with inexpressible fury. "You'll never stop our sleeping again!" Signor Petito had dragged himself to his feet, entirely at a loss to know what face to put upon the matter, inasmuch as Madame Longuet, in her nightgown, was assiduously pointing at him a large, shining, nickel-plated revolver. He only found the phrase: "I beg your pardon: _I thought you were in the country_." But it was M. Longuet who came to him, took between his thumb and first finger one of Signor Petito's long ears, and said: "And now, _my dear Signor Petito, we are going to have a little talk_!" Marceline lowered the barrel of the revolver; and at the sight of his calm courage, gazed at her husband in an ecstasy of admiration. "You see, my dear Signor Petito, I am calm," said Theophrastus. "Just now, indeed, I was in a devil of a temper, but that was against that infernal cat which prevented us from sleeping. So I threw it out of the window. But cheer up, Signor Petito, I am not going to throw you out of the window. Mine is a just nature. It wasn't you who prevented us from sleeping. You have taken the precaution of putting on list slippers. Many thanks for it. Why then, my dear Signor Petito, are you making that intolerable face? Of course, it must be your ear. I've good news for you then, news which will set you quite at your ease about your ear: _You are not going to suffer from your ears any longer_, my dear Signor Petito!" Then he bade his wife put on a dressing-gown, and begged Signor Petito come into the kitchen. "Don't be surprised at my receiving you in my kitchen," he said. "_I am very careful of my carpets, and you will bleed like a pig._" He dragged a table of white wood from against the wall to the middle of the kitchen, and bade Marceline spread a piece of oil-cloth on it, and fetch him the big bowl, and the carving-knife from the drawer of the dining-room sideboard.