ittle pencils of glass which chemists use in mixing
certain corrosive substances. That evening for the first time Linda
allowed me to caress her. I held her in my arms and passed my hand over
her long hair, which snapped and cracked under my touch in a succession of
tiny sparks. As soon as I regained my room the golden cat, as usual,
appeared before me. I called her to me; she rubbed herself against me with
arched back and extended tail, purring the while with the greatest
amiability. I took the glass pencil in my hand, moistened the point in the
glycerin, and held it out to the animal, which licked it with her long red
tongue. I did this three or four times, but the next time I dipped the
pencil in the acid. The cat unhesitatingly touched it with her tongue. In
an instant she became rigid, and a moment after, a frightful tetanic
convulsion caused her to leap thrice into the air, and then to fall upon
the floor with a dreadful cry--a cry that was truly human. She was dead!

"With the perspiration starting from my forehead and with trembling hands
I threw myself upon the floor beside the body that was not yet cold. The
starting eyes had a look that froze me with horror. The blackened tongue
was thrust out between the teeth; the limbs exhibited the most remarkable
contortions. I mustered all my courage with a violent effort of will, took
the animal by the paws, and left the house. Hurrying down the silent
street, I proceeded to the quays along the banks of the Loire, and, on
reaching them, threw my burden into the river. Until daylight I roamed
around the city, just where I know not; and not until the sky began to
grow pale and then to be flushed with light did I at last have the courage
to return home. As I laid my hand upon the door, I shivered. I had a dread
of finding there still living, as in the celebrated tale of Poe, the
animal that I had so lately put to death. But no, my room was empty. I
fell half-fainting upon my bed, and for the first time I slept, with a
perfect sense of being all alone, a sleep like that of a beast or of an
assassin, until evening came."

Some one here interrupted, breaking in upon the profound silence in which
we had been listening.

"I can guess the end. Linda disappeared at the same time as the cat."

"You see perfectly well," replied Tribourdeaux, "that there exists between
the facts of this story a curious coincidence, since you are able to guess
so exactly their relation. Yes, Linda