"Come! fall to on the soup," he cried brusquely. "I have had nothing since morning but two swallows of cognac. I should eat an ox whole to-night." To prove his words, he began to empty the huge porringer of soup before him. For several moments nothing was heard but the clatter of spoons followed by that of the knives cutting up the side of bacon served by the farmer's wife. His walk and the fresh air had given Arnold himself an appetite that made him forget his Parisian daintiness. The supper grew gayer and gayer, when all at once the peasant raised his head. "And Farraut?" he asked. "I have not seen him since my return." His wife and the children looked at each other without answering. "Well, what is it?" went on Moser, who saw their embarrassment. "Where is the dog? What has happened to him? Why don't you answer, Dorothee?" "Don't be angry, father," interrupted Jean; "we didn't dare tell you, but Farraut went away and has not come back." "A thousand devils! You should have told me!" cried the peasant, striking the table with his fist. "What road did he take?" "The road to Garennes." "When was it?" "After dinner: we saw him go up the little path." "Something must have happened to him," said Moser, getting up. "The poor animal is almost blind and there are sand pits all along the road! Go fetch my sheepskin and the lantern, wife. I must find Farraut, dead or alive." Dorothee went out without making any remark either about the hour or the weather, and soon reappeared with what her husband had asked for. "You must think a great deal of this dog," said Arnold, surprised at such zeal. "It is not I," answered Moser, lighting his pipe; "but he did good service to Dorothee's father. One day when the old man was on his way home from market with the price of his oxen in his pocket, four men tried to murder him for his money, and they would have done it if it had not been for Farraut; so when the good man died two years ago, he called me to his bedside and asked me to care for the dog as for one of his children--those were his words. I promised, and it would be a crime not to keep one's promise to the dead. Fritz, give me my iron-shod stick. I wouldn't have anything happen to Farraut for a pint of my blood. The animal has been in the family for twenty years--he knows us all by our voices--and he recalls the grandfather. I shall see you again, monsieur, and good-night until to-morrow." Moser wrapped himself in his sheepskin and went out. They could hear the sound of his iron-shod stick die away in the soughing of the wind and the falling of the rain. After awhile the farmer's wife offered to conduct Arnold to his quarters for the night, but Arnold asked permission to await the return of the master of the house, if his return were not delayed too long. His interest in the man who had at first seemed to him so vulgar, and in the humble family whose existence he had thought to be so valueless, continued to increase.