y, very grudgingly, rise when he came up, and then
it would arch its back and suffer no caresses. When he came later yet,
it would not budge, and would complain and groan if he took the liberty
of stroking its head or scratching its throat.

This morning it had no patience with Durtal's laziness. It squatted on
its hunkers, and swelled up, then it approached stealthily and sat down
two steps away from its master's face, staring at him with an
atrociously false eye, signifying that the time had come for him to
abdicate and leave the warm place for a cold cat.

Amused by its manoeuvres, Durtal did not move, but returned its stare.
The cat was enormous, common, and yet bizarre with its rusty coat
yellowish like old coke ashes and grey as the fuzz on a new broom, with
little white tufts like the fleece which flies up from the burnt-out
faggot. It was a genuine gutter cat, long-legged, with a wild-beast
head. It was regularly striped with waving lines of ebony, its paws were
encircled by black bracelets and its eyes lengthened by two great
zigzags of ink.

"In spite of your kill-joy character and your single track mind you
testy, old bachelor, you are a very nice cat," said Durtal, in an
insinuating, wheedling tone. "Then too, for many years now, I have told
you what one tells no man. You are the drain pipe of my soul, you
inattentive and indulgent confessor. Never shocked, you vaguely approve
the mental misdeeds which I confess to you. You let me relieve myself
and you don't charge me anything for the service. Frankly, that is what
you are here for. I spoil you with care and attentions because you are
the spiritual vent of solitude and celibacy, but that doesn't prevent
you, with your spiteful way of looking at me, from being insufferable at
times, as you are today, for instance!"

The cat continued to stare at him, its ears sticking straight up as if
they would catch the sense of his words from the inflections of his
voice. It understood, doubtless, that Durtal was not disposed to jump
out of bed, for it went back to its old place, but now turned its back
full on him.

"Oh come," said Durtal, discouraged, looking at his watch, "I've simply
got to get up and go to work on Gilles de Rais," and with a bound he
sprang into his trousers. The cat, rising suddenly, galloped across the
counterpane and rolled itself up into the warm covers, without waiting
an instant longer.

"How cold it is!" and Durtal slipped on a knit ja