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.

As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the house
for several days. When I did go I was surprised at not seeing Misti. I
asked where he was.

She blushed and replied:

"I gave him away. I was uneasy."

I was astonished.

"Uneasy? Uneasy? What about?"

She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone:

"I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear."

Misti appeared in. Gil Blas of January 22, 1884, over the signature
of "MAUFRIGNEUSE."

MADAME HERMET

Crazy people attract me. They live in a mysterious land of weird dreams,
in that impenetrable cloud of dementia where all that they have witnessed
in their previous life, all they have loved, is reproduced for them in an
imaginary existence, outside of all laws that govern the things of this
life and control human thought.

For them there is no such thing as the i