So, as I said before we had a dog in the place; and, oh, such a wretch! I'm sure that no one ever before saw such a beast, and there it was baying and howling the whole night through. The very first day he came to inhabit the smart green kennel that Mrs Blunt had had bought, he worked his collar over his ears and got loose, driving the gardener nearly mad with the pranks he played amongst the flowers; when who should come but poor meek, quiet, innocent, tame Monsieur de Kittville. The wretch made at him, seizing him by the leg of his trousers; but how he ever did it without taking out a bit of his leg I can't make out, for his things were always dreadfully tight; and there was the wretch of a dog hanging on and dragging back, snarling the while, and the poor little dancing master defending himself with his fiddle, and shrieking out-- "Brigand! Cochon! Diable de chien! Hola, ho! Au secours! I shall be dechire! Call off te tog!" And at every word he banged the great beast upon the head with the little fiddle, till it was broken all to bits; but still the dog held on, until the gardener and James ran to his assistance. "He won't hurt you, sir," said the great, tall, stupid footman, grinning. "But he ayve hurt me, dreadful," cried the poor dancing master, capering about upon the gravel, and then stooping to tie his handkerchief over his leg, to hide the place where the dog had taken out a piece of the cloth, and was now coolly lying down and tearing it to pieces. "I am hurt! I am scare--I am fright horrible!" cried poor Monsieur de Kittville; "and my nerves and strings--oh, my nerves and strings--and my leetle feetle shall be broken all to pieces. Ah, Madame Bloont, Madame Bloont, why you keep such monster savage to attack vos amis? I shall not dare come for give lessons. I am ver bad, ver bad indeed." "Oh, dear, oh, dear! how can I sufficiently apologise?" exclaimed Mrs Blunt, who had hurried up, and now began tapping the great dog upon the head with her fan. "I am so extremely sorry, Monsieur de Kittville. Naughty dog, then, to try and bite its mistress's friends." "Aha, madame," said the poor little man, forgetting his trouble in his excessive politeness and gallantry--"mais ce n'est rien; just nosing at all; but I am agitate. If you will give me one leetle glass wine, I shall nevare forget your bonte." "Oh, yes, yes--pray come in," said Mrs Blunt. And then we all came round the poor, trembling little martyr; and although we could not help laughing, yet all the while we pitied the good-tempered, inoffensive little man, till he had had his glass of wine and gone away; for, of course, he gave no lesson that day, and I must chronicle the fact that Mrs Blunt gave him a guinea towards buying a new instrument. "But, oh, Clara," I said, when we were alone, "suppose that had been poor Achille?" "Oh, what's the good of supposing?" said Clara, pettishly. "It was not him, and that ought to be enough."