Moumouth, knowing henceforth with whom he had to deal, promised himself to avoid the steward, or to fight him, if need be, with tooth and nail. As to Father Lustucru, it was enough that his projects had been defeated, in order that he should persist in them with desperation. He now wished the destruction of the poor and innocent cat, not only on account of his jealousy of Mother Michel, but because he hated the cat itself. "Oh, what humiliation!" he said to himself, with bitterness. "I ought to hide myself, retire to a desert, and bury me in the bowels of the earth! What! I, Jerome Lustucru, a grown man, a man of knowledge and experience, a man--I dare say it--charming in society, I am vanquished, scoffed at, taken for a dupe, by a cat of the gutter!... I leave him at the bottom of a river, and find him at the top of a house! I wish to separate him from his guardian, and I am the means of bringing them together! I lead Mother Michel to the garret to torture her, and there I witness her transports of joy! The cat I believed dead reappears to defy me!... He shall not defy me long!" And Father Lustucru remained absorbed in deep meditation. [Illustration: Lustucru meditates.] Moumouth had not yet dined that day, and he made it plain by expressive miauing that he would very willingly place something under his teeth. Presently, Mother Michel said to him--for she spoke to him as if he were an intelligent being,-- "Have patience, sir; we are going to attend to you." She descended to the parlor, which she habitually occupied since the departure of Madame de la Grenouillere, and the cat, who accompanied Mother Michel, was clearly displeased at seeing her take the road to the chamber of Lustucru. Nevertheless, he went in with her, persuaded that in the presence of that faithful friend the steward would not dare to undertake anything against him. At the moment she knocked at the door, Father Lustucru was taking from the shelf a green package which bore this label: _Death to Rats_. "This is the thing," he said to himself, thrusting the paper into his vest. "_Death to Rats_ should also be _Death to Cats_. Our dear Moumouth shall make the trial.... What can one do to serve you, my good Mother Michel?" "It is five o'clock, M. Lustucru, and you forget my cat." [Illustration: The Green Package.] "I forget him!" cried the steward, clasping his hands as if very much hurt by the suspicion, "I was just thinking of him.... I am going to prepare for him such a delicious hash that he will never want another!"