THE CAT- 



coat. There, warm, safe, and unseen, poor Moquo 

 would take courage, and softly purr his gratitude. 

 Sometimes, however, we caught a glimpse of him, 

 and then, in spite of my father's reproaches, we 

 laughed and jeered at his melancholy aspect. I 

 can still recall the shadowy creature, shrinking 

 away, and seeming to melt into the breast of his 

 protector, closing his eyes as he crept backward, 

 choosing to see and hear nothing. 



There came a day when my father left us for a 

 long journey, and all the animals shared our grief 

 at his departure. Time after time his dogs trotted 

 a little way along the road he had taken to Paris, 

 howling piteously for their master. The most 

 desolate creature in the house was Moquo. He 

 trusted no one ; but, for a while, would steal to the 

 hearth, looking wistfully and furtively at my fa- 

 ther's vacant place. Then, losing hope, he fled 

 to the woods, to resume the wild and wretched life 

 of his infancy; and, though we tried, we never 

 could entice him back to the home where he no 

 longer had a friend. 



Memoires (Tune Enfant, Athanais Michelet. 



151 



