The black cat immediately quitted his place
by the fire and went to meet him; rubbing himself against the newcomer's
legs, arching his back and purring loudly; testifying his joy in every
way possible to him.
"Well, well, Beelzebub," said the old man, bending down and stroking him
affectionately, "are you really so glad to see me? Yes, I know you are,
and it pleases me, old fellow, so it does. We are so lonely here, my
poor young master and I, that even the welcome of a dumb beast is not
to be despised. They do say that you have no soul, Beelzebub, but you
certainly do love us, and understand most times what we say to you too."
These greetings exchanged, Beelzebub led the way back to the fire, and
then with beseeching eyes, looking alternately from the face of his
friend to the pot-au-feu, seemed mutely begging for his share of its
contents. Poor Beelzebub was growing so old that he could no longer
catch as many rats and mice as his appetite craved, and he was evidently
very hungry.
Pierre, that was the old servant's name, threw more wood on the
smouldering fire, and then sat down on a settle in the chimney corner,
inviting his companion--who had to wait still for his supper as
patiently as he might--to take a seat beside him.
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