passion, possessed of convictions, involved in great affairs created out
of my own substance for an anxiously meditated end.

She remained silent for a while, then said with a last glance all round
at the litter of the fray:

"And you sit like this here writing your--your . . ."

"I--what? Oh, yes, I sit here all day."

"It must be perfectly delightful."

I suppose that, being no longer very young, I might have been on the
verge of having a stroke; but she had left her dog in the porch, and my
boy's dog, patrolling the field in front, had espied him from afar.
He came on straight and swift like a cannon-ball, and the noise of the
fight, which burst suddenly upon our ears, was more than enough to scare
away a fit of apoplexy. We went out hastily and separated the gallant
animals. Afterwards I told the lady where she would find my wife--just
round the corner, under the trees. She nodded and went off with her dog,
leaving me appalled before the death and devastation she had lightly
made--and with the awfully instructive sound of the word "delightful"
lingering in my ears.

Nevertheless, later on, I duly escorted her to the field gate. I wanted
to be civil, of course (what are twenty lives in a mere novel that one
should be rude to a lady on their account?), but mainly, to adopt the
good sound Ollendorffian style, because I did not want the dog of the
general's daughter to fight again (encore) with the faithful dog of
my infant son (mon petit garcon).--Was I afraid that the dog of the