happy in your company, and forsaking that of animals of his own species. In vain do enticing mews re-echo from the roofs, calling him to join one of those cat-*soirees where juicy red-herrings take the place of tea: he will not be tempted away, and shares your vigil to the end. If you put him on the floor, he jumps back to his place with a murmuring noise which is like a soft reproach. Sometimes, standing near, he looks at you with eyes so full of melting tenderness, so loving and so human, that you are half-frightened; for it seems impossible that in such a regard reason can be lacking.
Don Pierrot de Navarre had a companion of the same race, no less white than himself. All the comparisons which we have heaped together in "The symphony in white, major" cannot express the idea of this immaculate snowiness, which makes even the fur of the ermine look yellow.
