210 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



tempted from his post. Put him down, and he will 

 jump up again with plaintive murmurs of reproach. 

 Sometimes he sits at your feet, looking into your 

 face with an expression so gentle and caressing that 

 the depth of his gaze startles you. Who can be 

 lieve that there is no soul behind those luminous 

 eyes ! 



&quot; Don Pierrot cle Navarre had a sweetheart as 

 dazzlingly white as he was himself. By her side the 

 ermine would have looked yellow. Seraphita, for 

 so this lovely creature was named in honour of Bal 

 zac s Swedenborgian romance, was gentle, dreamy, 

 and contemplative. She would sit motionless on 

 her cushion for hours, wide awake, her eyes follow 

 ing, in a rapture of attention, sights invisible to us. 

 She was the most luxurious of all my cats, and was 

 ever to be found on the softest rug, or in the easiest 

 chair. Though reserved, she was fond of caresses, 

 and would return them with grace to those whom 

 she favoured with her esteem. She devoted a great 

 deal of time every day to her toilet, cleaning and 

 polishing her glossy coat with her pink tongue until 

 it shone like burnished silver. If any one rumpled 

 the sleek fur, she would instantly and carefully lick 

 it smooth again. To be dishevelled was beyond 

 endurance. Perfumes delighted her, and she would 

 thrust her little nose into bouquets, bite daintily at 

 scented handkerchiefs, and walk with wary footsteps 



