Madame Bonfamille stroked her white cat, her constant companion, with cool, thin hands that always smelled of lavender. How beautiful Duchess was now that she was full-grown! Her shapely head, her long, plumy tail, her slender legs. She was surely the finest cat in all Paris. And it was time she found an equally fine mate.

Of course before doing anything rash she should find out whether this was what Duchess wanted. To Madame, the cat was no pet but a friend and confidante. Thus she must be consulted. Thus, also, she was sure Duchess understood every word she said. Her friends might think she had gone a little odd in her old age, to speak to her cat and expect a reply. But they could never know the depth of her bond with Duchess.

"Duchess my dear, I've been thinking. How would you like to become a mother?"

Duchess pictured fluffy white kittens, tiny versions of herself, tumbling and playing together. Three kittens, maybe four or even five - adored by their mother and their mistress alike. She knew Madame could see them too. It was a vision of perfect happiness.

"Oh, yes, Madame!" Duchess purred, rubbing her head against Madame's chin again and again. Her human companion only heard the purrs, but she nodded in agreement.

Poor Duchess might not have been so eager had she known what was in store. Madame made several telephone calls, and a couple of weeks later she set off in her carriage behind Frou-Frou the horse, Duchess cosy on her knee. They travelled to a large house in the country, where a strange lady took Duchess from Madame's shoulders and subjected her to a most undignified examination.

"She's in season all right. Leave her with us overnight; I shall telephone in the morning. If it all goes well you can collect her then."

Madame stroked Duchess' ears and kissed her pink nose. "Good luck, darling. I'll be back tomorrow!"

The lady carried Duchess, confused and unresisting, to a wire pen in the garden, and popped her in.

"Cyrano! Cyrano, a visitor for you!" Bending to pet Duchess, she whispered "You needn't be afraid - Cyrano is always the perfect gentleman."

A loud yawn was heard, and a cat swaggered towards them from the wooden shelter at the end of the run. It was a tom, bigger and heavier than Duchess but graceful in his manner. His fur was as pure white and glossy as Duchess' own, and perhaps even longer. Round amber eyes looked her over.

"You look like quality stock. I am Grand Champion Cyrano de Bergerac, stud cat, at your service." His expression said that she should be impressed, so Duchess smiled politely.

"A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur de Bergerac. My name is Duchess."

"Just Duchess? Hmm, don't you know your pedigree name?"

"I am afraid not. Though I am certain I have one." Duchess' tone remained courteous, but she was deeply affonted by the stranger's manner and the critical way he looked her up and down. A lesser cat would have flattened its ears and hissed; Duchess contented herself with a soft sniff.

"Humph." The tom frowned. "I need to know my kittens will have a good lineage on their mother's side. I don't pass on my name to just anyone."

Since it was clear that the cats were not going to fight, Cyrano's human closed the wire door. "I'll leave you in peace now," she told them, not imagining that they would understand. "Cyrano, the lady is of impeccable heritage. I expect you to do your duty!"

Cyrano looked cross, but he seemed to make up his mind. "Very well then, let's get on with it. Done this before?"

"Oh no, never!"

"Have no fear. I have sired over a hundred kittens - Champions, Grand Champions and Best in Shows all."

"That's very impressive, Monsieur," said Duchess doubtfully. This was not the courtship she had imagined as a teenager. Where were her romantic notions now, of walks in the moonlight, noses touching gently together, kisses and little bites? But Cyrano was undeniably of noble birth. His - and her - kittens would make Madame proud. "I'm sure they are all utterly charming," she flattered.

"Couldn't say, I've never seen one. Can't stand kittens, horrid little pests. Always chasing one's tail." With that, Cyrano grabbed the scruff of Duchess' neck in his teeth and further conversation became impossible for both of them.

Duchess felt a good deal of pain during the mating. It was not that Cyrano was inexperienced or rough; this was a routine job he had performed countless times since reaching maturity. But cats are built in such a way that the male hurts the female quite badly when he withdraws from her. If gentle Madame had been aware of this fact of cat biology, she might not have subjected her beloved Duchess to it. Yet queens, as female cats are known, have suffered in this way for thousands of years, and Duchess' ordeal was over at last.

Cyrano surprised her by licking her ear affectionately and patting her shoulder. He was grateful that she had not cried out while he was at his work - most females did, and it made him feel a brute.

"Brave girl," he said. He stalked into his shelter, where he curled up on a cushion and fell asleep. Duchess sat with her tail wrapped around her paws, trembling a little and missing Madame. This was the first night they had ever spent apart - what was her precious human doing without her? Perhaps she had invited her old friend Georges to keep her company, and they were dancing to the gramophone together. She was comforted by this thought, though it increased her homesickness.

"Hey there princess!"

Duchess jumped as a cat's face was pressed suddenly up against the pen. She inclined her head graciously.

"It's not 'Princess', it's 'Duchess'. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Baby, I'm here to show you a good time. Hop on out of that cage, cos you and me are going places!"

'Baby'? 'Going places'? Duchess didn't understand such slang expressions. But the grinning tom looked friendly, and she was thoroughly sick of Grand Champion Cyrano de Bergerac who was still snoozing on his cushion. She thought of Madame, but whatever adventure she was going on, she could be back by morning. Madame would never know. Like a naughty schoolgirl playing truant, Duchess climbed the wire fence paw over paw and dropped silently onto the grass next to her new friend.

The stranger introduced himself as Bob. He was a real mix-up; mostly black, with white paws and occasional patches of ginger and tabby. Half his tail was missing and he walked with a limp, but to Duchess, brought up in the lap of luxury, these were marks of a wild, exciting life. Together they leaped a low wall out of the garden and into the surrounding countryside. Here Duchess stood still, amazed by the new sounds and smells.

"But this is incredible, Robert!" Duchess said in delight, looking around. "No houses! Just grass and trees!" She nibbled a blade of grass; it was much fresher and sweeter than park or garden grass, though not as delicious as the catnip Madame grew for her on the window-sill.

"Housecat, huh?" Bob asked sympathetically.
"Oh no, Madame often takes me for a promenade, or for drives in her carriage."
"But you don't go out on your own?"
"And leave Madame? Never." Bob looked surprised, and his half-tail twitched a little.
"Gee, you must really like your human," he said. "But there are things in life that are best when there are no people around. C'mon, I'll show you some of 'em!"

Together they climbed a great oak tree and admired the view all around. When Duchess could not climb back down, Bob showed her how to turn herself around and take it in a vertical run, jumping to the ground at the last moment. Although the female would not lower herself to eating mice when she was always amply provided for - after all, one of her best friends was a mouse - Bob convinced her that chasing one a little way was good clean fun and the mouse would enjoy it as much as she did. They played tag among the woods; Duchess had been taken from her brothers and sisters at an early age, and had never experienced this game before. When they were tired out, they drank at a little pond and lay together listening to the song of the frogs.

"Thank you, Robert," said Duchess sincerely, stretching herself. "You have shown me so many wonderful things."

"That was nothing! Stick with me - there's plenty more where that came from."

Duchess regretfully shook her head. "No, I cannot leave Madame. What would she do without me, or I without her? But I wish there was some way I could repay you."

"Well...no, I couldn't ask..." Bob stared at his paws, looking guilty, and his stumpy tail thrashed madly. The pupils of his eyes seemed huge as the moon above, and shone in its light.

Duchess was not in the least worldly-wise, but she knew instantly what he meant. Go through that pain again? Twice in one day? Then she saw Bob's face, his genuine, honest expression, and felt a rush of fondness for him. For an instant she forgot Madame, forgot good breeding, and wanted only to couple with this cat whom she would never see again.

"Yes," she said.

It was different this time. The pain was no less, but Bob's urgent, eager manner was utterly unlike Cyrano's disinterested commitment. This was not work, this was play. Afterwards they kissed briefly, then Bob took Duchess back to the stranger's house.

She carefully groomed her fur and cleaned the mud from between her toes, not wanting to worry Madame with the thought that she had been running wild about the countryside. She was still at her toilette when Cyrano woke and yawned. He paid no attention to Duchess, but when his human put two plates of food in the pen and they both ran to the appetising smell he sniffed her and grimaced.

"You've been with that farm cat, Bob!" he said in tones of utter disgust. "But he's nothing but a common moggy! No pedigree at all! Ugh!" And he scratched Duchess' face, hissing furiously.

Luckily Cyrano's human was used to cats fighting after they had mated. She swiftly removed Duchess and took her indoors to wait for Madame.

There is another peculiarity to the mating of cats. If a queen is serviced by two toms in quick succession, kittens in the same litter may have different fathers. So it was that nine weeks later, Duchess gave birth to three beautiful kittens: one pure white and the spitting image of her mother, one black, and one ginger.

Duchess had chosen Madame's bed as the place where she would give birth. Madame, who adored her cat, did not object as it meant she could keep an eye on Duchess at all times. When it became plain that the kittens were soon to arrive, she rang immediately for the best vet in Paris.

Duchess' labour was an easy one and soon she was licking her three children clean, purring loudly. Madame and the vet went into the next room to give the little family some peace.

"You have a splendid kitten there, Madame Bonfamille," said the vet. Behind the door, Duchess pricked up her ears; mothers love to hear good things of their children. She knew he must be speaking of her baby girl - she was beautiful already. But what about the boys? There wasn't anything wrong with them, was there?

"Clearly a pedigree; she will be very valuable, and very beautiful. But the two males..." The vet shook his head. "You sent the queen away to stud, you say?"
"Yes, to a tom with a very fine pedigree."
"I'm sorry to say it looks as though your Duchess has misbehaved herself."
"Impossible!"
"Madame, the other two kittens are common crossbred cats. Look at their colouring. They will never be worth anything. If I were you, I would have them destroyed as soon as possible."

Duchess turned cold. Destroy her kittens? Her boys? She had been shocked at their appearance - it was obvious at once what had happened, but how? The business of cutting the cords and cleaning her babies had put the thought from her mind, but now she had to face it. They were common cats. Bob's kittens, the product of her naughty, childish fling in the woods. She had betrayed Madame, who had been so kind and spent so much money to provide a good father. How could common cats live in such a noble household? Madame's pedigree, she knew (for humans have them too) was longer and more ancient than her own. This was why she had selected an aristocratic cat to be her companion. She could not be expected to provide for these mongrel kittens.

Yet the white kitten was the product of a joyless, mechanical pairing, while her sons had been conceived in love. And whatever their paternity, she loved them all equally. She had done wrong, but these little innocents, the result of that wrong, must not suffer for it. There could only be one solution: she must leave Madame.

Duchess jumped silently from the bed and up to the window, which she opened with her paw. She would take them away, carrying one at a time, to some safe place among the rooftops of the city, and she would do it now, before the vet returned. It broke her heart to leave dear, good Madame, but better to live as a stray than lose her babies. The black kitten in her teeth, she leaped onto the window-sill.

"Duchess! My dear Duchess, whatever are you doing?" Madame had come unheard into the room. She gasped to see her darling and the newborn teetering on the edge of a drop. Running across the room far faster than such an elderly lady ought, she scooped both cats into her arms. Duchess felt Madame's heart beating rapidly as her mistress held her close. Then she and her new son were placed tenderly on the bed with the other two kittens.

"I have sent that horrid vet away. Nobody is going to hurt your lovely babies, my darling."

Duchess heaved a sigh of relief, but she still felt anxious and sad. She mewed softly at Madame, who stroked her head just as lovingly as she had always done - perhaps even more so.

"I've been a silly old woman, Duchess. I should have let you choose your own husband, in your own time, instead of sending you away like that. It was cruel of me, and I beg your forgiveness."

A lick of Duchess' small pink tongue reassured Madame that she had it. She continued: "I don't care who the father of your kittens is; I love their mother very much indeed, and I love them too. They shall have the best possible education and be given every advantage - all three of them."

The vet had warned Madame that mother cats can be very protective of their kittens; and that, conversely, they may reject their offspring if they are handled by humans too much, too soon. So she watched Duchess carefully as she reached out and touched each of the three kittens with her finger. Far from objecting, the white cat purred harder. Taking the black boy in her mouth again, she placed him in Madame's hand.

"Oh, may I? Really?"

She gently lifted the black kitten, who was purring with a pleasing sound, and held him up to her face. "This one, I predict, will be a great musician, and we shall call him Berlioz after the composer of that name. Yes?" Duchess purred her approval.

"And this one," she replaced the black kitten and picked up the ginger, who squeaked and wriggled. "I can see he has the artistic temperament already! Let us name him Toulouse after the famous painter." Her pale blue eyes were sparkling, and Duchess realised how much joy these new lives had already brought to an old lady.

Lastly she held the white kitten, who looked so much like Duchess had when Madame first brought her home as a baby. The tiny thing could fit in one fine-boned hand. "And what shall we call this one?" She smiled.

Duchess was happier than she had ever been. Gazing up at Madame, she made a sound that was half meow, half purr.

"Mrrreee!"

"'Marie', you say? That's a wonderful name, darling. Marie it is!" She kissed Marie between the ears and laid her at her mother's side.

"Now listen, Duchess - and kittens, because it's never too soon to learn. Good breeding is nothing to do with pedigree or ancestry. It comes from within. Duchess, you must bring your children up to be ladies and gentlemen, and behave always in an honourable fashion. Then they will be truly well-bred. And you kittens must obey your mother and learn your manners, as well as kindness, patience and all the other virtues. Among humans, the most noble men and women in society are known as aristocrats. Bon - you four will be aristocats! Will you do that, my darlings?"

Duchess wrapped her flowing white tail around her three precious babies and purred an answer for them all, and Madame understood the meaning if not the words: "We will!"