happiness。 But； suddenly； I felt him start violently and he gave a
scream； a scream that I shall never forget。 I opened my eyes and saw
that Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his
claws as if it had been a linen rag。 And the blood was streaming down
like rain； madame。
〃I tried to take the cat away； but he held on tight； scratching all the
time； and he bit me； he was so crazy。 I finally got him and threw him
out of the window； which was open； for it was summer。
〃When I began to bathe my poor friend's face； I noticed that his eyes
were destroyed； both his eyes！
〃He had to go to the hospital。 He died of grief at the end of a year。
I wanted to keep him with me and provide for him； but he would not agree
to it。 One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence。
〃As for Mouton； his back was broken by the fall； The janitor picked up
his body。 I had him stuffed； for in spite of all I was fond of him。
If he acted as he did it was because he loved me； was it not？〃
The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose
body trembled on its iron framework。
Emma； with sorrowful heart； had forgotten about the predicted deathor；
at least； she did not allude to it again； and she left； giving the woman
five francs。
As her husband was to return the following day； I did not go to the house
for several days。 When I did go I was surprised at not seeing Misti。
I asked where he was。
She blushed and replied：
〃I gave him away。 I was uneasy。〃
I was astonished。
〃Uneasy？ Uneasy？ What about？〃
She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone：
〃I was uneasy about your eyes； my dear。〃
Misti appeared in。 Gil Blas of January 22； 1884； over the signature
of 〃MAUFRIGNEUSE。〃
MADAME HERMET
Crazy people attract me。 They live in a mysterious land of weird dreams；
in that impenetrable cloud of dementia where all that they have witnessed
in their previous life； all they have loved； is reproduced for them in an
imaginary existence； outside of all laws that govern the things of this
life and control human thought。
For them there is no such thing as the impossible； nothing is improbable；
fairyland is a constant quantity and the supernatural quite familiar。
The old rampart； logic； the old wall； reason； the old main stay of
thought； good sense； break down； fall and crumble before their
imagination； set free and escaped into the limitless realm of fancy； and
advancing with fabulous bounds； and nothing can check it。 For them
everything happens； and anything may happen。 They make no effort to
conquer events； to overcome resistance； to overturn obstacles。 By a
sudden caprice of their flighty imagination they become princes；
emperors； or gods； are possessed of all the wealth of the world； all the
delightful things of life； enjoy all pleasures； are always strong； always
beautiful； always young； always beloved！ They； alone； can be happy in
this world； for； as far as they are concerned； reality does not exist。
I love to look into their wandering intelligence as one leans over an
abyss at the bottom of which seethes a foaming torrent whose source and
destination are both unknown。
But it is in vain that we lean over these abysses； for we shall never
discover the source nor the destination of this water。 After all； it is
only water； just like what is flowing in the sunlight； and we shall learn
nothing by looking at it。
It is likewise of no use to ponder over the intelligence of crazy people；
for their most weird notions are； in fact； only ideas that are already
known； which appear strange simply because they are no longer under the
restraint of reason。 Their whimsical source surprises us because we do
not see it bubbling up。 Doubtless the dropping of a little stone into
the current was sufficient to cause these ebullitions。 Nevertheless
crazy people attract me and I always return to them； drawn in spite of
myself by this trivial mystery of dementia。
One day as I was visiting one of the asylums the physician who was my
guide said：
〃Come； I will show you an interesting case。〃
And he opened the door of a cell where a woman of about forty； still
handsome； was seated in a large armchair； looking persistently at her
face in a little hand mirror。
As soon as she saw us she rose to her feet； ran to the other end of the
room； picked up a veil that lay on a chair； wrapped it carefully round
her face； then came back； nodding her head in reply to our greeting。
〃Well；〃 said the doctor； 〃how are you this morning？〃
She gave a deep sigh。
〃Oh； ill； monsieur； very ill。 The marks are increasing every day。〃
He replied in a tone of conviction：
〃Oh； no； oh； no； I assure you that you are mistaken。〃
She drew near to him and murmured：
〃No。 I am certain of it。 I counted ten pittings more this morning；
three on the right cheek； four on the left cheek； and three on the
forehead。 It is frightful； frightful！ I shall never dare to let any one
see me； not even my son； no； not even him！ I am lost； I am disfigured
forever。〃
She fell back in her armchair and began to sob。
The doctor took a chair； sat down beside her； and said soothingly in a
gentle tone：
〃Come； let me see； I assure you it is nothing。 With a slight
cauterization I will make it all disappear。〃
She shook her head in denial； without speaking。 He tried to touch her
veil； but she seized it with both hands so violently that her fingers
went through it。
He continued to reason with her and reassure her。
〃Come； you know very well that I remove those horrid pits every time and
that there is no trace of them after I have treated them。 If you do not
let me see them I cannot cure you。〃
〃I do not mind your seeing them；〃 she murmured； 〃but I do not know that
gentleman who is with you。〃
〃He is a doctor also； who can give you better care than I can。〃
She then allowed her face to be uncovered； but her dread； her emotion；
her shame at being seen brought a rosy flush to her face and her neck；
down to the collar of her dress。 She cast down her eyes； turned her face
aside； first to the right； then to the left； to avoid our gaze and
stammered out：
〃Oh； it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this！ It is
horrible； is it not？ Is it not horrible？〃
I looked at her in much surprise； for there was nothing on her face； not
a mark； not a spot； not a sign of one； nor a scar。
She turned towards me； her eyes still lowered； and said：
〃It was while taking care of my son that I caught this fearful disease；
monsieur。 I saved him； but I am disfigured。 I sacrificed my beauty to
him； to my poor child。 However； I did my duty； my conscience is at rest。
If I suffer it is known only to God。〃
The doctor had drawn from his coat pocket a fine water…color paint brush。
〃Let me attend to it；〃 he said； 〃I will put it all right。〃
She held out her right cheek； and he began by touching it lightly with
the brush here and there； as though he were putting little points of
paint on it。 He did the same with the left cheek； then with the chin；
and the forehead； and then exclaimed：
〃See； there is nothing there now； nothing at all！〃
She took up the mirror； gazed at her reflection with profound； eager
attention； with a strong mental effort to discover something； then she
sighed：
〃No。 It hardly shows at all。 I am infinitely obliged to you。〃
The doctor had risen。 He bowed to her； ushered me out and followed me；
and； as soon as he had locked the door； said：
〃Here is the history of this unhappy woman。〃
Her name is Mme。 Hermet。 She was once very beautiful； a great coquette；
very much beloved and very much in…love with life。
She was one of those women who have nothing but their beauty and their
love of admiration to sustain； guide or comfort them in this life。 The
constant anxiety to retain her freshness； the care of her complexion； of
her hands； her teeth； of every portion of body that was visible； occupied
all her time and all her attention。
She became a widow； with one son。 The boy was brought up as are all
children of society beauties。 She was； however； very fond of him。
He grew up； and she grew older。 Whether she saw the fatal crisis
approaching； I cannot say。 Did she； like so many others； gaze for hours
and hours at her skin； once so fine； so transparent and free from
blemish； now beginning to shrivel slightly； to be crossed with a thousand
little lines； as yet imperceptible； that will grow deeper day by day；
month by month？ Did she also see slowly； but surely； increasing traces
of those long wrinkles on the forehead； those slender serpents that
nothing can check？ Did she suffer the torture； the abominable torture of
the mirror； the little mirror with the silver handle which one cannot
make up one's mind to lay down on the table； but then throws down in
disgust only to take it up again in order to look more closely； and still
more closely at the hateful and insidious approaches of old age？ Did she
shut herself up ten times； twenty times a day； leaving her friends
chatting in the drawing…room； and go up to her room where； under the
protection of bolts and bars； she would again contemplate the work of
time on her ripe beauty； now beginning to wither； and recognize with
despair the gradual progress of the process which no one else had as yet
seemed to perceive； but of which she； herself； was well aware。 She knows
where to seek the most serious； the gravest traces of age。 And the
mirror； the little round hand…glass in its carved silver frame； tells her
horrible things； for it speaks； it seems to laugh； it jeers and tells her
all that is going to occur； all the physical discomforts and the
atrocious mental anguish she will suffer until the day of her death；
which will be the day of her deliverance。
Did she weep； distractedly； on her knees； her forehead to the ground； and
pray； pray； pray to Him who thus slays his creatures and gives them youth
only that he may render old age more unendurable； and lends them beauty
only that he may withdraw it almost immediately？ Did she pray to Him；
imploring Him to do for her what He has never yet done