"Ophelia!" rang Babeta's voice. The dog turned about and, seeing the master, she started in the opposite direction, tail between hind legs and head down. "Ophelia!" he called again. She took a few steps toward him, and as he approached nearer she laid down in the mud, closed her eyes and turned her head aside. Babeta had not taken the leash along, but he held on to the silver collar to bring her home. Babeta hoped against hope that he would still be able to give pure Dane pups to his friends, but in a few weeks the shame could no longer be hidden. He opened his heart to every one and told where he had found her and in what company. The guests who had patted her and fed her the best sweets no longer looked at her. She was pushed away from near the table. With bowed head she nestled close to her master, her sole protector and friend, but he repulsed her. He did not understand. He did not sympathize. "Fui, fui, get away, shameless creature, to the kitchen." The ones that were promised pups became harsh to her and everybody scolded. And one of them remarked: "Look, she is eating from the floor." It was the most evident sign of her downfall. Before her escapade she had never eaten but what was given to her in a plate; and never the rests from the tables, but food especially prepared for her by Babeta himself. "Shame," they all yelled, "shame, shame." When she lifted her pleading head to her master, Babeta, in a fit of anger, spat at it. "Fui, fui!" In vain she waited for forgiveness. She longed for the nightly piece of sugar from the lips of her master. She stretched her neck when he passed her by in his inspection of the kitchen. But he did not even look at her. What terrible thing had she done! If he were willing to forgive her she would feel as guilty as he wanted, but since he was so harsh and insulting she felt only his cruelty and not her shame. Outside her friend was serenading again. The door was not even closed. The master no longer cared with whom she associated. Among humans no friend was left--she understood that--the door was wide open. She could do as she pleased. She had lost her master. He will only scold and never pat again. She understood that, too. * * * * * "Where is Ophelia?" Sonori asked the next evening. "She has run away and committed suicide!" Babeta announced. "Actually committed suicide. She understood she was disgraced. I called and called, but she ran away--she surely committed suicide!" and he was flattered that Ophelia cared enough for him to commit suicide because she had lost his friendship. Only Prosper knows. "She has gone to the dogs," he said. "The day of aristocracy is over. It's the people now. You are either with them; howling, fighting, getting ruffled and bitten, or you have to isolate yourself on an island at the mercy of much worse--like that other great aristocrat--and Ophelia understood and made her choice." * * * * *