The window opened on the roof; the old man took a chair, climbed on it and craned his head over the sill till he could see down over the edge of the rain-shoot. There he stood for ever so long watching the little black dots darting in and out among the legs of the passers-by. But not one of them was Azor. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead; he was obliged to get down off the chair. At last, as dusk was falling, a paw came scratching at the door, and he flew to open it. Yes, it was his old comrade—but in what a plight! dyed blue, with a rope’s end still dangling round his neck! Some tragedy had befallen, no doubt, of which he had been the victim—and he patted the poor beast, his mind a prey to a hundred sinister apprehensions. Azor meantime fawned round him, looking as contrite as a culprit who cannot hope to be forgiven. The dye refused to be washed out; soap was of no avail, and they had to resort to caustics; but for all they could do, a tinge of blue remained. It lasted nearly a month, but at last the black reappeared. While his master was busy over these operations, Azor would lick his hands, only stopping to sneeze, when the strong fumes got up his nose. He seemed cured of all wish for adventures. Nevertheless, when a month was over, these prolonged absences began again. Sometimes he would stay away an hour; one Saturday he was abroad six hours. This irregular behaviour vexed his good master exceedingly. What could the mysterious attraction be that kept his faithful friend like this? He determined to find out. He had noticed that Azor, the better to elude his vigilance, apparently used always to loiter a bit in front of the house, not starting away before he felt certain no one was looking; then in one bound he would be at the end of the street and disappear. One day he followed the truant. Now and again the dog would stop, nose all along the pavement, then, reassured, set off again at a trot. He turned the corner, then down a broader street, and so eventually into a square. The clumps of rhododendrons hid him for a moment from his master, who came puffing up; but presently he caught sight of him in the middle of a group of children. He was barking joyously, leaping up at them, rolling on his back in the grass, in transports of delight. They were five little pale-faced things, and among them one face paler still and pinched with illness. The shock nailed the old man to the spot. Was it possible? Was Azor a traitor to his friend? And he gazed first at the dog and then at the children with the look a man wears who sees an edifice he has long been labouring at crumbling into ruin. He had put his trust in the animal; he esteemed him as well as loved him—and, lo! the ingrate was sharing his caresses with others. He hated duplicity, and his gorge rose at the thought. “Come here!” he shouted.