The cat looked at the King.

She was the boldest cat in the world, but her heart stood still as she
vindicated the immemorial right of her race.

What would the King say? What would the King do?

Would he call her up to sit on his royal shoulder? If so, she would purr
her loudest to drown the beating of her heart, and she would rub her head
against the royal ear. How splendid to be a royal cat!

Or perhaps he would appoint her Mouser to the King's Household, and she
would keep the King's peace with tooth and claw.

Or perhaps she would become playmate to the Royal children, and live on
cream and sleep all day on a silken cushion.

Or--and this is where her heart ceased to beat--perhaps she would pay the
price of her temerity and the Hereditary Executioner would smite off her
head.

She had put it boldly to the test, to sink or swim. What would the King do?

The King rose slowly from his throne and passed out to his own apartments,
whilst all the Court bowed.

The King had not noticed the cat.

* * * * *