Sabron, in his shirt-sleeves, sat before a table on which, in a basket, lay Michette's only surviving puppy. It was a month old. Sabron already knew how bright its eyes were and how alluring its young ways. "Be still, Brunet," commanded the officer. "You do not come from the south or you would be more sanguine. Pitchouné has _got_ to live." The puppy's clumsy adventuresome feet had taken him as far as the highroad, and on this day, as it were in order that he should understand the struggle for existence, a bicycle had cut him down in the prime of his youth, and now, according to Brunet, "there wasn't much use!" Pitchouné was bandaged around his hind quarters and his adorable little head and forepaws came out of the handkerchief bandage. "He won't eat anything from me, _mon Capitaine_," said Brunet, and Sabron ceremoniously opened the puppy's mouth and thrust down a dose. Pitchouné swallowed obediently. Sabron had just returned from a long hard day with his troops, and tired out as he was, he forced himself to give his attention to Pitchouné. A second invitation to dinner lay on his table; he had counted the days until this night. It seemed too good to be true, he thought, that another picture was to add itself to his collection! He had mentally enjoyed the others often, giving preference to the first, when he dined at the château; but there had been a thrill in the second caused by the fluttering of the white dress down by the poplar walk. To-night he would have the pleasure of taking in Miss Redmond to dinner. "See, mon Capitaine," said Brunet, "the poor little fellow can't swallow it." The water trickled out from either side of Pitchouné's mouth. The sturdy terrier refused milk in all forms, had done so since Sabron weaned him; but Sabron now returned to his nursery days, made Brunet fetch him warm milk and, taking the quill, dropped a few drops of the soothing liquid, into which he put a dash of brandy, down Pitchouné's throat. Pitchouné swallowed, got the drink down. gave a feeble yelp, and closed his eyes. When he opened them the glazed look had gone. The officer hurried into his evening clothes and ordered Brunet, as he tied his cravat, to feed the puppy a little of the stimulant every hour until he should return. Pitchouné's eyes, now open, followed his handsome master to the door. As Sabron opened it he gave a pathetic yelp which made the _capitaine_ turn about. "Believe me, _mon Capitaine_," said the _ordonnance_ with melancholy fatality, "it is no use. If I am left with Pitchouné it will be to see him die. I know his spirit, _mon Capitaine_. He lives for you alone." "Nonsense," said the young officer impatiently, drawing on his gloves. Pitchouné gave a plaintive wail from the bandages and tried to stir. "As for feeding him, _mon Capitaine_," the _ordonnance_ threw up his hands, "he will be stiff by the time..."