Without further words the doctor lifted the little dog and laid him on the bed Paulette had prepared for him. “He will be better off there,” declared the doctor, “and you can sit by him. Brave little dog, I will not let you suffer.” Pom Pom moaned a little as the doctor gave the quieting drug, but was soon quiet again. Lucie rose, feeling stiff from so long sitting in a cramped position. The doctor stood looking thoughtfully at the little dog, now very quiet. Paulette followed the doctor to the door to which he beckoned her. “There is about one chance in a hundred,” he told her. “I think there is a bit of shrapnel for which I should have to probe; otherwise blood poison will set in, if it has not done so already, and the little chap will be done for. The little girl will be worn out. Hers is a beautiful devotion only surpassed by that of the dog. If she will consent to allowing me to take the dog home with me where I have the necessary appliances, I will do my very best for him. Explain to her that it is the only chance, and that I hardly think he can be saved, but in my opinion it is worth while to try.” Paulette returned to the room and reported what the doctor had said. “I cannot bear to let him go when I may never see him again,” Lucie spoke distressedly. “But, my child, it must be very soon that you do part from him unless the doctor makes this effort.” “I know, I know,” acknowledged Lucie. “It is very kind of this good doctor. It is extraordinary that he should be willing to do this for a dumb beast,” Paulette argued. “It will hurt him dreadfully, won’t it?” said Lucie, lifting tearful eyes to the doctor who now came back into the room. “I shall put him under ether, and he should not suffer so much as he has been doing.” “Shall you have to keep him long?” “If he improves I think he can return in a week, perhaps.” “If he does not improve?” “One cannot tell. Be assured that I shall not permit him to suffer needlessly, and that I shall do my utmost for him, as I would for any other soldier of France.” Lucie looked up gratefully. “You are very good, and I trust you. I believe that you can cure him, so please take him.” “Do not expect the impossible, my child, but what can be done shall be. It is a small service to give a hero such as he is.” Lucie bent over to take a last look at Pom Pom. He lay very quiet. She went to the door and called Michel who was waiting to hear what the doctor might say: “Michel,” she said, “please go to the house and ask Mlle. Annette to give you the little flag which is pinned up in my room.” Michel sped away, and returned in a twinkling with the flag. He followed her into the house and watched while she spread the colors of France over the little dog. “It is the last thing I can do, and I think Victor would like it,” she told the doctor. “If he dies will you please let him be buried with it?”