Misti
I was very much interested at that time in a droll little woman. She wasmarried, of course, as I have a horror of unmarried flirts. Whatenjoyment is there in making love to a woman who belongs to nobody andyet belongs to any one? And, besides, morality aside, I do notunderstand love as a trade. That disgusts me somewhat.The especial attraction in a married woman to a bachelor is that shegives him a home, a sweet, pleasant home where every one takes care ofyou and spoils you, from the husband to the servants. One findseverything combined there, love, friendship, even fatherly interest, bedand board, all, in fact, that constitutes the happiness of life, withthis incalculable advantage, that one can change one's family from timeto time, take up one's abode in all kinds of society in turn: in summer,in the country with the workman who rents you a room in his house; inwinter with the townsfolk, or even with the nobility, if one isambitious.I have another weakness; it is that I become attached to the husband aswell as the wife. I acknowledge even that some husbands, ordinary orcoarse as they may be, give me a feeling of disgust for their wives,however charming they may be. But when the husband is intellectual orcharming I invariably become very much attached to him. I am careful ifI quarrel with the wife not to quarrel with the husband. In this way Ihave made some of my best friends, and have also proved in many cases theincontestable superiority of the male over the female in the humanspecies. The latter makes all sorts of trouble-scenes, reproaches, etc.;while the former, who has just as good a right to complain, treats you,on the contrary, as though you were the special Providence of his hearth.Well, my friend was a quaint little woman, a brunette, fanciful,capricious, pious, superstitious, credulous as a monk, but charming.She had a way of kissing one that I never saw in any one else--but thatwas not the attraction--and such a soft skin! It gave me intense delightmerely to hold her hands. And an eye--her glance was like a slow caress,delicious and unending. Sometimes I would lean my head on her knee andwe would remain motionless, she leaning over me with that subtle,enigmatic, disturbing smile that women have, while my eyes would beraised to hers, drinking sweetly and deliciously into my heart, like aform of intoxication, the glance of her limpid blue eyes, limpid asthough they were full of thoughts of love, and blue as though they were aheaven of delights.Her husband, inspector of some large public works, was frequently awayfrom home and left us our evenings free. Sometimes I spent them with herlounging on the divan with my forehead on one of her knees; while on theother lay an enormous black cat called "Misti," whom she adored. Ourfingers would meet on the cat's back and would intertwine in her softsilky fur. I felt its warm body against my cheek, trembling with itseternal purring, and occasionally a paw would reach out and place on mymouth, or my eyelid, five unsheathed claws which would prick my eyelids,and then be immediately withdrawn.Sometimes we would go out on what we called our escapades. They werevery innocent, however. They consisted in taking supper at some inn inthe suburbs, or else, after dining at her house or at mine, in making theround of the cheap cafes, like students out for a lark.We would go into the common drinking places and take our seats at the endof the smoky den on two rickety chairs, at an old wooden table. A cloudof pungent smoke, with which blended an odor of fried fish from dinner,filled the room. Men in smocks were talking in loud tones as they dranktheir petits verres, and the astonished waiter placed before us twocherry brandies.She, trembling, charmingly afraid, would raise her double black veil asfar as her nose, and then take up her glass with the enjoyment that onefeels at doing something delightfully naughty. Each cherry she swallowedmade her feel as if she had done something wrong, each swallow of theburning liquor had on her the affect of a delicate and forbiddenenjoyment.Then she would say to me in a low tone: "Let us go." And we would leave,she walking quickly with lowered head between the drinkers who watchedher going by with a look of displeasure. And as soon as we got into thestreet she would give a great sigh of relief, as if we had escaped someterrible danger.Sometimes she would ask me with a shudder:"Suppose they, should say something rude to me in those places, whatwould you do?" "Why, I would defend you, parbleu!" I would reply in aresolute manner. And she would squeeze my arm for happiness, perhapswith a vague wish that she might be insulted and protected, that shemight see men fight on her account, even those men, with me!One evening as we sat at a table in a tavern at Montmartre, we saw an oldwoman in tattered garments come in, holding in her hand a pack of dirtycards. Perceiving a lady, the old woman at once approached us andoffered to tell my friend's fortune. Emma, who in her heart believed ineverything, was trembling with longing and anxiety, and she made a placebeside her for the old woman.The latter, old, wrinkled, her eyes with red inflamed rings round them,and her mouth without a single tooth in it, began to deal her dirty cardson the table. She dealt them in piles, then gathered them up, and thendealt them out again, murmuring indistinguishable words. Emma, turningpale, listened with bated breath, gasping with anxiety and curiosity.The fortune-teller broke silence. She predicted vague happenings:happiness and children, a fair young man, a voyage, money, a lawsuit, adark man, the return of some one, success, a death. The mention of thisdeath attracted the younger woman's attention. "Whose death? When? Inwhat manner?"The old woman replied: "Oh, as to that, these cards are not certainenough. You must come to my place to-morrow; I will tell you about itwith coffee grounds which never make a mistake."Emma turned anxiously to me:"Say, let us go there to-morrow. Oh, please say yes. If not, you cannotimagine how worried I shall be."I began to laugh."We will go if you wish it, dearie."The old woman gave us her address. She lived on the sixth floor, in awretched house behind the Buttes-Chaumont. We went there the followingday.Her room, an attic containing two chairs and a bed, was filled withstrange objects, bunches of herbs hanging from nails, skins of animals,flasks and phials containing liquids of various colors. On the table astuffed black cat looked out of eyes of glass. He seemed like the demonof this sinister dwelling.Emma, almost fainting with emotion, sat down on a chair and exclaimed:"Oh, dear, look at that cat; how like it is to Misti."And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat "exactly like that,exactly like that!"The old woman replied gravely:"If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it."Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked:"Why not?"The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand."It was the undoing of my life," she said.My friend wanted to hear about it. She leaned against the old woman,questioned her, begged her to tell. At length the woman agreed to do so."I loved that cat," she said, "as one would love a brother. I was youngthen and all alone, a seamstress. I had only him, Mouton. One of thetenants had given it to me. He was as intelligent as a child, and gentleas well, and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than onedoes a fetish. All day long he would sit on my lap purring, and allnight long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact."Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who wasworking in a white-goods house. That went on for about three months on afooting of mere friendship. But you know one is liable to weaken, it mayhappen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him. He wasso nice, so nice, and so good. He wanted us to live together, foreconomy's sake. I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening. Ihad not made up my mind to anything definite; oh, no! But I was pleasedat the idea that we should spend an hour together."At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my heartgo pit-a-pat. And then he kissed me, madame, kissed me as one does whenthey love. I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm ofhappiness. But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave ascream, a scream that I shall never forget. I opened my eyes and sawthat Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with hisclaws as if it had been a linen rag. And the blood was streaming downlike rain, madame."I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all thetime; and he bit me, he was so crazy. I finally got him and threw himout of the window, which was open, for it was summer."When I began to bathe my poor friend's face, I noticed that his eyeswere destroyed, both his eyes!"He had to go to the hospital. He died of grief at the end of a year.I wanted to keep him with me and provide for him, but he would not agreeto it. One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence."As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked uphis body. I had him stuffed, for in spite of all I was fond of him.If he acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?"The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whosebody trembled on its iron framework.Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted death--or,at least, she did not allude to it again, and she left, giving the womanfive francs.As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the housefor several days. When I did go I was surprised at not seeing Misti.I asked where he was.She blushed and replied:"I gave him away. I was uneasy."I was astonished."Uneasy? Uneasy? What about?"She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone:"I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear."
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