She went out and Lucie followed as far as the next door, upon which she tapped. The doors now were not locked since the two little girls had become intimates and wished to run back and forth at will. Hearing no response to her rap Lucie went in. Odette was sitting, elbows on window sill, staring out into the street. It was a gray day, somber and chill, for winter was at hand. “Have you seen Pom Pom?” Lucie made her query without further delay. “Pom Pom? No, why, have you lost him?” Lucie dropped down on the floor and covered her face with her hands. “He is gone, gone, the dear little dog whom I loved so well, and, whom I promised to take good care of.” “When did you see him last?” “When Victor was here last evening. He was so overjoyed when Victor arrived. You never saw such delight. Paulette thinks he may have followed Victor downstairs, but of course Victor would have sent him back.” “If he saw him. This is what I think; that he followed your friend to the street. Monsieur sent him back. He returned to find the door shut.” “He would have waited there till morning unless some one picked him up. Oh, Odette, I have lost him, lost him, and now I no more have a dear little dog to love me and to love.” “But you have others; me, I have no one, not even a dog to love or to love me.” Lucie looked up through her tears. “But Odette, I love you.” Odette smiled rather sadly. “Not as you do Pom Pom. You would not weep if you were to lose me out of your days. Don’t cry, Lucie. Let us go out and look for him. This is such an unusual occasion that I think we need not ask permission. We will need to go only around the neighborhood.” It was a comfort to Lucie that she could make some active effort toward looking for the little dog, but though they went from dairy to bakery, from bakery to butcher shop, and so on the rounds no one had seen or heard anything of the lost Pom Pom. So they returned quite hopeless and discouraged, and Lucie spent a melancholy day. Odette tried to comfort her as best she could, succeeding in making her laugh more than once, though immediately she would lapse into a fit of weeping. “I shouldn’t care so much if I could know he would be well cared for,” she mourned. “A little dumb beast is so helpless; he cannot tell his troubles if he is neglected and ill treated. He has never known anything but kindness.” “Then he is better off than many human beings,” returned Odette somberly. Lucie looked at her through her tears. “Odette, are you ill treated?” she asked. “I suppose one should not mind harsh words, and should not call oneself ill treated who has nothing more than that, but, you see, even your dog wanted affection, and you are mourning because you think he has none, or, perhaps, has none, while I--there is not a soul on earth to give me a word of love, much less a caress.”