“If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it.”

Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked: 

“Why not?”

The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand.

“It was the undoing of my life,” she said.

My friend wanted to hear about it.  She leaned against the old woman, questioned her, begged her to tell.  At length the woman agreed to do so.

“I loved that cat,” she said, “as one would love a brother.  I was young then and all alone, a seamstress.  I had only him, Mouton.  One of the tenants had given it to me.  He was as intelligent as a child, and gentle as well, and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than one does a fetish.  All day long he would sit on my lap purring, and all night long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact.

“Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who was working in a white-goods house.  That went on for about three months on a footing of mere friendship.  But you know one is liable to weaken, it may happen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him.  He was so nice, so nice, and so good.  He wanted us to live together, for economy’s sake.  I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening.  I had not made up my mind to anything definite; oh, no!  But I was pleased at the idea that we should spend an hour together.

“At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my heart go pit-a-pat.  And then he kissed me, madame, kissed me as one does when they love.  I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm of happiness.  But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave a scream, a scream that I shall never forget.  I opened my eyes and saw that Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his claws as if it had been a linen rag.  And the blood was streaming down like rain, madame.

“I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all the time; and he bit me, he was so crazy.  I finally got him and threw him out of the window, which was open, for it was summer.

“When I began to bathe my poor friend’s face, I noticed that his eyes were destroyed, both his eyes!

“He had to go to the hospital.  He died of grief at the end of a year.  I wanted to keep him with me and provide for him, but he would not agree to it.  One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence.

“As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked up his body.  I had him stuffed, for in spite of all I was fond of him.  If he acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?”

The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose body trembled on its iron framework.

Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted death—­or, at least, she did not allude to it again, and she left, giving the woman five francs.