SOME CATS OF FRANCE 219 



also, which is the unusual feature of the case, dis- 

 tressingly ugly. It was at the close of a long skir- 

 mish — hardly worthy to be called a battle — in the 

 Yellow Sea, that she leaped from a Chinese junk 

 to the French warship, and, guided by instinct or 

 destiny, took refuge in Loti's cabin, — - a piteous 

 object, meagre, terrified, miserable, the most forlorn 

 and desolate of intruders, but absolutely determined 

 to remain. 



Loti, to do him justice, did not yield without a 

 protest. The strange Moumoutte was not attrac- 

 tive, and she was sadly in the way ; but, when he 

 put her out, she scuttled directly back again, always 

 fixing on him a gaze so human and so imploring 

 that he was fascinated by its intensity. In the end 

 she triumphed, and was for seven months his close 

 and constant companion ; while Moumoutte Blanche, 

 far away in France, drowsed in the sunny garden 

 paths, and dreamed of his return. Propinquity, as 

 we know, is the one sure road to love ; and, during 

 those seven months, master and cat had rare oppor- 

 tunities for intimate acquaintance. A man-of-war 

 offers few distractions to the growing charms of 

 companionship. 



"I well remember," writes M. Loti, "the day 

 when our relations became really affectionate. It 

 was a melancholy afternoon in September. The 

 first winds of Autumn roughened the sullen seas. 



