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 jacket and went into the
other room to start a fire. "I shall freeze!" he murmured.