"
"Perhaps poor madame de Boufflers?"
"No, my friend."
"Who then is the object of so much regret? Speak; tell me."
"Madame Brillant."
"A friend of the old marechale 's?"
"More than a friend," replied madame de Mirepoix; "her faithful
companion; her only companion; her only beloved object, since
her lovers and admirers ceased to offer their homage--in a word,
her cat."
"Bless me!" cried I, "how you frightened me! But what sort of a
cat could this have been to cause so many tears?"
"Is it possible that you do not know madame Brillant, at least
by name?"
"I assure you," said I, "this is the very first time I ever heard
her name."
"Well, if it be so, I will be careful not to repeat such a thing
to madame de Luxembourg; she would never pardon you for it.
Listen, my dear countess," continued madame de Mirepoix; "under
the present circumstances it will be sufficient for you to write
your name in her visiting-book."
I burst into a fit of laughter.
"It is no joke, I promise you," exclaimed the marechale; "the
death of madame Brillant is a positive calamity to madame de
Luxembourg. Letters of condolence will arrive from Chanteloup;
madame du Deffant will be in deep affliction, and the virtues and
amiable qualities of the deceased cat will long furnish subjects
of conversation."
"It was then a singularly engaging animal, I presume?"
"On the contrary, one of the most stupid, disagreeable, and
dirty creatures of its kind; but still it was the cat of madame
de Luxembourg.
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