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"If you were to hurt one of his cats he'd murder you," she informed me.
"He always carries a long, sharp knife concealed somewhere about him on
purpose."
"What a fierce little gentleman," I remarked.
"He looks on me as one of his cats, too," she said with a low laugh,
"and considers himself my protector. Once in Buda-Pesth he and I were
driving about. I was doing some shopping. As I was getting into the cab
a man insulted me, on account, I suppose, of my German name. Anastasius
sprang at him like a wild beast, and I had to drag him off bodily and
lift him back into the cab. I'm pretty strong, you know. It must have
been a funny sight." She turned to me quickly. "Do you think it wrong of
me to laugh?"
"Why shouldn't you laugh at the absurd?"
"Because in devotion like that there seems to be something solemn
and frightening. If I told him to kill his cats, he would do it. If I
ordered him to commit Hari-Kari on the hearthrug, he would whip out his
knife and obey me. When you have a human soul at your mercy like that,
it's a kind of sacrilege to laugh at it.


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