"That is the first time I have seen that dog show a spark of human gratitude, Julia, He is probably begging you to open the door and let him take a run." Indeed Pitchouné did go to the door and waited appealingly. "I think you might trust him out. I think he is tamed," said the Marquise d'Esclignac. "He is a real little savage." Miss Redmond opened the door and Pitchouné shot out. She watched him tear like mad across the terrace, and scuttle into the woods, as she thought, after a rabbit. He was the color of the fallen leaves and she lost sight of him in the brown and golden brush. CHAPTER IX THE FORTUNES OF WAR Sabron's departure had been delayed on account of a strike at the dockyards of Marseilles. He left Tarascon one lovely day toward the end of January and the old town with its sweetness and its sorrow, fell behind, as he rolled away to brighter suns. A friend from Paris took him to the port in his motor and there Sabron waited some forty-eight hours before he set sail. His boat lay out on the azure water, the brown rocks of the coast behind it. There was not a ripple on the sea. There was not a breeze to stir as he took the tug which was to convey him. He was inclined to dip his fingers in the indigo ocean, sure that he would find them blue. He climbed up the ladder alongside of the vessel, was welcomed by the captain, who knew him, and turned to go below, for he had been suffering from an attack of fever which now and then laid hold of him, ever since his campaign in Morocco. Therefore, as he went into his cabin, which he did not leave until the steamer touched Algiers, he failed to see the baggage tender pull up and failed to see a sailor climb to the deck with a wet bedraggled thing in his hand that looked like an old fur cap except that it wriggled and was alive. "This, _mon commandant_," said the sailor to the captain, "is the pluckiest little beast I ever saw." He dropped a small terrier on the deck, who proceeded to shake himself vigorously and bark with apparent delight. "No sooner had we pushed out from the quay than this little beggar sprang from the pier and began to swim after us. He was so funny that we let him swim for a bit and then we hauled him in. It is evidently a mascot, mon commandant, evidently a sailor dog who has run away to sea." The captain looked with interest at Pitchouné, who engaged himself in making his toilet and biting after a flea or two which had not been drowned. "We sailors," said the man saluting, "would like to keep him for luck, _mon commandant_." "Take him down then," his superior officer ordered, "and don't let him up among the passengers." * * * * * * *