molded to one's shape, like a cushion marked with the imprint of a long
sleep ...the long nights of freedom, when the lone owlet, with his sad
little laugh, makes his way through the air as quietly as I do on the
ground, and silvery gray rats cling to the vines, eating grapes and
keeping their eyes on me at the same time. It's the sun-cure on the hot
stone-wall, from which I arise wan and shrunken, baked through and
through, but svelte enough to make the youngest tomcat envious. (_Coming
back to the present with a murderous look at_ THE LITTLE DOG.) Death to
you, ill-smelling beast, for having evoked these by-gone joys! Aren't
you going to disappear, that I may come down from this cold pedestal,
where my paws are growing numb?

TOBY-DOG, (_enthusiastically to_ THE LITTLE DOG)

But let us forget all that! With you there, I can think of nothing but
you. I feel that I love you!

THE LITTLE DOG, (_lowering her eyes_)

Do you mean ...really?

TOBY-DOG

Of course I do!

THE LITTLE DOG

So soon!

TOBY-DOG