explain this fact, so simple apparently, yet so suggestive, as best they
may. That judicious and observant cat of mine deduces from the presence
by her plate of utensils which man alone understands how to use that she
must give up her position for that day to a guest, and she forthwith
does so. Never once has she made a mistake. Only, when she is well
acquainted with the particular guest, she will climb upon his knee and
seek, by her graceful ways and her caresses, to induce him to bestow
some tit-bit upon her.

But enough of this; I must not weary my readers, and stories of cats are
less attractive than stories about dogs. Yet I deem that I ought to tell
of the deaths of Enjolras and Gavroche. In the Latin Rudiments there is
a rule stated thus: _Sua eum perdidit ambitio._ Of Enjolras it may be
said: _Sua eum perdidit pinguitudo_, that is, his admirable condition
was the cause of his death. He was killed by idiotic fanciers of jugged
hare. His murderers, however, perished before the end of the year in the
most painful manner; for the death of a black cat, an eminently
cabalistic animal, never goes unavenged.

Gavroche, seized with a frantic love of freedom, or rather with a
sudden attack of vertigo, sprang out of the window one day, crossed the
street, climbed the fence of the Parc Saint-James, which faces our
house, and vanished. In spite of our utmost endeavours, we never managed
to hear of him again, and a shadow of mystery hangs over his fate; so
that the only survivor of the Black Dynasty is Eponine, who is still
faithful to her master and has become a thorough cat of letters.

Her companion now is a magnificent angora cat, whose gray and silver fur
recalls Chinese spotted porcelain. He is called Zizi, alias "Too
Handsome to Work." The handsome fellow lives in a sort of contemplative
_kief_, like a theriaki under the influence of the drug, and makes one
think of "The Ecstasies of Mr. Hochenez." Zizi is passionately fond of
music, and, not satisfied with listening to it, he indulges in it
himself. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when everybody is asleep, a
strange, fantastic melody, which the Kreislers and the musicians of the
future might well envy, breaks in upon the silence. It is Zizi walking
upon the key-board of the piano which has been left open, and who is at
once astonished and delighted at hearing the keys sing under his tread.

It would be unjust not to link with this branch Cleopatra, Eponine's
daugh