ong that I know of--my conscience is clear--and
yet, I'm suffering. There lies my chum, shivering and unable to sleep. I
know by his quick breathing that he feels just as I do.... I say, Cat?

KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_irritably, in a low tone_)

Be quiet!

TOBY-DOG

What? You're listening to some noise?

KIKI-THE-DEMURE

No! _Heavens_, no! Don't mention noise. The mere sound of your voice
makes the skin on my back go in waves like the sea. TOBY-DOG,
(_frightened_)

Are you going to die?

KIKI-THE-DEMURE

I hope not. I've a sick headache. Can't you see the arteries throbbing
under the almost hairless skin of my temples--the transparent, bluish
skin that denotes a thoroughbred? It's atrocious! The veins on my
forehead are like writhing vipers, and I don't know _what_ gnome forges
in my brain! Oh, be quiet! Or at least speak so low that the coursing
of my agitated blood may drown the sound of your voice....

TOBY-DOG

But it's this very silence that oppresses me. I tremble and don't know
why. I long for the familiar voice of the wind in the chimney, the
slamming of doors, the whispering of the garden, the poplars' ceaseless
rustle--it always sounds like a trickling spring--

KIKI-THE-DEMURE

The uproar will come, soon enough.

TOBY-DOG Do you think so? I wish He'd scratch paper. It's an idle
habit but an honored one. And see how listless She is, there in her
wicker chair. Their silence frightens me more than anything. She seems
asleep, but I can see her eyelashes move and the tips of her fingers,
too. She's forgetting to play with the little balls of thread and
doesn't sing, or whistle. She suffers just as we do.... Do you think
this can be the end of the world, Cat?

KIKI-THE-DEMURE

No. It's a storm. Heavens! how uncomfortable I am! If I could only get
out of my skin, cast off this fleece which is smothering me, fling
myself naked as a skinned mouse into a fresher atmosphere! Oh Dog, you
cannot see the sparks that make every separate hair on my body crackle,
but I feel them. Don't come near! A blue flame is going to shoot out of
me....

TOBY-DOG, (_shuddering_)

Things are coming to an awful pass! (_He drags himself to the porch_.)
_What_ have they done to the out-of-doors? Look! the trees are all blue
and the grass glistens like a sheet of water. What mournful sunlight! It
shines white on the slate roofs, and the little houses over there on the
hill look like brand new tombstones. A heavy odor, like