and which expresses itself from time to time by a caress.'"
When M. Loti returned to France, he was met by Moumoutte Blanche, and was accompanied by Moumoutte Chinoise. It was an embarrassing situation, not unlike that of the Crusader who brought home a Saracen wife, and presented her to his Christian spouse. The poor little intruder was lifted from her basket amid outcries at her ugliness; and, with an anxious heart, her master awaited the result of the first crucial interview. It was unlike anything he had anticipated, and reflected credit on both rivals. The two cats flew to arms, and had a battle royal for supremacy. The kitchen was the scene of combat, desperate valour was shown by the combatants, and only a liberal and impartial application of cold water chilled their martial ardour, and put an end to hostilities. Once separated, they never fought again. Moumoutte Chinoise, wary and alert, Moumoutte Blanche, pensive and sombre, met each other in the daily intercourse of life, disdainfully at first, then with growing cordiality, and finally with an ardent friendship, beautiful to behold. Jealousy was banished from their little hearts. Intimate and inseparable, they dined and dozed and played together, even making their toilets in common, and licking and smoothing each other's fur with mutual tenderness and pride.
