alone had suffered; his yellow face had not changed its tint, and he was
no more surprised at his latest exploit than if he had merely covered
the distance from Sainte-Severe to Gazeau Tower.

The only fresh habit that I noticed in him, was that he would turn round
from time to time, and look behind him, as if he had felt inclined to
call some one; then immediately after he would smile and sigh almost at
the same instant. I could not resist a desire to ask him the cause of
his uneasiness.

"Alas!" he replied, "habit can't get rid of; a poor dog! good dog!
Always saying, 'Here Blaireau! Blaireau, here!'"

"I understand," I said, "Blaireau is dead, and you cannot accustom
yourself to the idea that you will never see him at your heels again."

"Dead!" he exclaimed, with an expression of horror. "No, thank God!
Friend Patience, great friend! Blaireau quite well off, but sad like his
master; his master alone!"

"If Blaireau is with Patience," said Arthur, "he is well off, as you
say; for Patience wants nothing. Patience will love him because he loves
his master, and you are certain to see your good friend and faithful dog
again."

Marcasse turned his eyes upon the individual who seemed to be so well
acquainted with his life; but, feeling sure that he had never seen him
before, he acted as he was wont to do when he did not understand; he
raised his hat and bowed respectfully.