For hours
together he lay stretched upon my knee, like the shadow of a sphinx. I
felt his spine under my finger tips like the beads of a rosary, and he
tried to respond to my caresses by a feeble purr that resembled a
death-rattle. On the day of his death he was lying on his side panting,
and suddenly, with a supreme effort, he rose and came to me. His large
eyes were opened wide, and he gazed at me with a look of intense
supplication, a look that seemed to say, 'Save me, save me, you, who are
a man.' Then he made a few faltering steps, his eyes became glassy, and
he fell down, uttering so lamentable a cry, so dreadful and full of
anguish, that I was struck dumb and motionless with horror. He was
buried at the bottom of the garden under a white rose tree, which still
marks the place of his sepulture. Three years later Seraphita died, and
was buried by the side of Don Pierrot. With her the White Dynasty became
extinct, but not the family. This snow-white couple had three children,
who were as black as ink. Let any one explain that mystery who can. The
kittens were born in the early days of the great renown of Victor Hugo's
'Les Miserables,' when everybody was talking of the new masterpiece, and
the names of the personages in it were in every mouth. The two little
male creatures were called Enjolras and Gavroche, and their sister
received the name of Eponine. They were very pretty, and I trained them
to run after a little ball of paper and bring it back to me when I threw
it into the corner of the room.
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