Yet next morning when he woke he was distressed when he found that she
was not in the bed with him but was lying curled up at the foot of it.
During breakfast she hardly listened when he spoke, and then impatiently,
but sat staring at the dove.

Mr. Tebrick sat silently looking out of window for some time, then he
took out his pocket book; in it there was a photograph of his wife taken
soon after their wedding. Now he gazed and gazed upon those familiar
features, and now he lifted his head and looked at the animal before
him. He laughed then bitterly, the first and last time for that matter
that Mr. Tebrick ever laughed at his wife's transformation, for he was
not very humorous. But this laugh was sour and painful to him. Then he
tore up the photograph into little pieces, and scattered them out of the
window, saying to himself: "Memories will not help me here," and turning
to the vixen he saw that she was still staring at the caged bird, and
as he looked he saw her lick her chops.

He took the bird into the next room, then acting suddenly upon the
impulse, he opened the cage door and set it free, saying as he did so:

"Go, poor bird! Fly from this wretched house while you still remember
your mistress who fed you from her coral lips. You are not a fit
plaything for her now. Farewell, poor bird! Farewell! Unless," he added
with a melancholy smile, "you return with good tidings like Noah's
dove."

But, poor gentleman, his troubles were not over yet, and indeed one may
say that he ran to meet them by his constant supposing that his lady
should still be the same to a tittle in her behaviour now that she was
changed into a fox.