Madame Michel was named Anastasie Ravegot; the widow, since twelve years, of Francois Michel, in life inspector of butter in the Paris markets; she was born in Noisy-le-Sec. "What is your favorite flower?" "The Jerusalem artichoke." After these customary questions, the fortune-teller examined some coffee-grounds poured into a saucer, and said:-- "Phaldarus, the genie of things unknown, informs me that you are in search of a being very dear to you." Mother Michel bounded in her chair with surprise. Madame Bradamor continued: "This being is not a man; it is a quadruped--either a dog or a cat. Ariel, spirit celestial, reveals to me that it is a cat." Mother Michel was more and more impressed; without giving her time to recover herself, the fortune-teller took a pack of cards, shuffled them, cut them three times, then disposed them in a systematic order on the table, and said gravely:-- "Your cat is the knave of clubs; let us see what happens to him. One, two, three, four; ten of spades! He is a wanderer, he has a passion for travel, he sets out at night to see the curiosities of Paris. One, two, three, four; the queen of spades! It is a woman who manufactures ermine fur out of cat-skin. One, two, three, four; the knave of spades! It is a rag-picker. One, two, three, four; the king of spades! It is a restaurant-keeper. The falling together of these three persons alarms me. One, two, three, four,--clubs! One, two, three, four,--clubs again! One, two, three, four,--always clubs. Your cat would bring money to these three persons: the rag-picker wishes to kill him in order to sell the skin to the furrier, and the body to the restaurant-keeper, who will serve it up to his customers as stewed rabbit. Will the cat be able to resist his persecutors. One, two, three, four; seven of spades! It is all over, madame; your cat no longer exists!" [Illustration: The Fortune-teller consults her Cards.] "They have eaten him, the cannibals!" cried Mother Michel, sinking back, and she fancied she heard a plaintive _miau_, the last agonized cry of Moumouth. But it was not an illusion; a cat had miaued, and was still miauing in the next chamber. Suddenly a pane of glass in the door described was shivered to atoms, and Moumouth in person tumbled at the feet of Mother Michel. [Illustration: Moumouth appears.] From the top of a wardrobe he had perceived his affectionate guardian; he had called to her several times, and as she did not answer him, he had thrown himself, in his desperation, against the glass door, through which he had broken a passage. "My cat was with you!" said Mother Michel; "you have stolen him! My mistress is powerful; my mistress is the Countess Yolande de la Grenouillere; she will have you chastised as you deserve to be!" While making these threats Mother Michel placed Moumouth under her arm, and prepared to depart. Madame Bradamor stopped her, saying:-- "Do not ruin me, I conjure you! I have not stolen your cat!"