"My dear," I asked him, "have you the capital necessary to pay damages to old Puff?"
"I have no other capital," replied the French Cat, laughing, "than the hairs of my moustache, my four paws, and this tail." Then he swept the gutter with a proud gesture.
"Not any capital," I cried, "but then you are only an adventurer, my dear!"
"I love adventures," he said to me tenderly. "In France it is the custom to fight a duel in the circumstances to which you allude. French Cats have recourse to their claws and not to their gold."
"Poor country," I said to him, "and why does it send beasts so denuded of capital to the foreign embassies?"
"That's simple enough," said Brisquet. "Our new government does not love money—at least it does not love its employees to have money. It only seeks intellectual capacity."
Dear Brisquet answered me so lightly that I began to fear he was conceited.
"Love without money is nonsense," I said. "While you were seeking food you would not occupy yourself with me, my dear."
By way of response this charming Frenchman assured me that he was a direct descendant of Puss in Boots. Besides he had ninety-nine ways of borrowing money and we would have, he said, only a single way of spending it. To conclude, he knew music and could give lessons. In fact, he sang to me, in poignant tones, a national romance of his country, Au clair de la lune. . . .
