CHAPTER VIII

THE CAT IN “CAMILLE"_

It was in “Camille,” one Friday night, in Baltimore, that for the only time in my life I wished to wipe an animal out of existence.  I love four-footed creatures with extravagant devotion, not merely the finely bred and beautiful ones, but the poor, the sick, the halt, the maimed, the half-breeds or the no breeds at all; and almost all animals quickly make friends with me, divining my love for them.  But on this one night—­well! it was this way.  In the last act, as Camille, I had staggered from the window to the bureau and was nearing that dread moment when in the looking-glass I was to see the reflection of my wrecked and ruined self.  The house was giving strained attention, watching dim-eyed the piteous, weak movements of the dying woman; and right there I heard that (——­h!) quick indrawing of the breath startled womanhood always indulges in before either a scream or a laugh.  My heart gave a plunge, and I thought:  What is it?  Oh, what is wrong? and I glanced down at myself anxiously, for really I wore so very little in that scene that if anything should slip off—­gracious!  I did not know but what, in the interest of public propriety, the law might interfere.  But that one swift glance told me that the few garments I had assumed in the dressing-room still faithfully clung to me.  But alas! there was the dreaded titter, and it was unmistakably growing.  What was it about?  They could only laugh at me, for there was no one else on the stage.  Was there not, indeed!  In an agony of humiliation I turned half about and found myself facing an absolutely monstrous cat.  Starlike he held the very centre of the stage, his two great topaz eyes were fixed roundly and unflinchingly upon my face.  On his body and torn ears he carried the marks of many battles.  His brindled tail stood straightly and aggressively in the air, and twitched with short, quick twitches, at its very tip, truly as burly an old buccaneer as I ever saw.

No wonder they giggled!  But how to save the approaching death scene from total ruin?  All was done in a mere moment or two; but several plans were made and rejected during these few moments.  Naturally my first thought, and the correct one, was to call back “Nannine,” my faithful maid, and tell her to remove the cat.  But alas! my Nannine was an unusually dull-witted girl, and she would never be able to do a thing she had not rehearsed.  My next impulse was to pick up the creature and carry it off myself; but I was playing a dying girl, and the people had just seen me, after only three steps, reel helplessly into a chair; and this cat might easily weigh twelve pounds or more; and then at last my plan was formed.  I had been clinging all the time to the bureau for support, now I slipped to my knees and with a prayer in my heart that this fierce old Thomas might not decline my acquaintance, I held out my hand, and in a faint voice, called “Puss—­Puss—­Puss! come here, Puss!”