“I have lost my poor dog,” he replied in a tone of discouragement and despair. “How is that--you have lost your dog?” “Yes. He was just a year old. He had never been outside the shop. I wanted to take him to have a run in the woods. He had never seen the grass nor the leaves and he was almost wild. He began to run about and bark and he disappeared in the wood. I must also add that he was greatly afraid of the train. That may have driven him mad. I kept on calling him, but he has not come back. He will die of hunger in there.” Without turning towards her husband, the young woman said: “If you had left his chain on, it would not have happened. When people are as stupid as you are they do not keep a dog.” “But, my dear, it was you--” he murmured timidly. She stopped short, and looking into his eyes as if she were going to tear them out, she began again to cast in his face innumerable reproaches. It was growing dark. The cloud of vapor that covers the country at dusk was slowly rising and there was a poetry in the air, induced by the peculiar and enchanting freshness of the atmosphere that one feels in the woods at nightfall. Suddenly the young man stopped, and feeling his body feverishly, exclaimed: “Oh, I think that I--” She looked at him. “Well, what?” “I did not notice that I had my coat on my arm.” “Well--?” “I have lost my pocketbook--my money was in it.” She shook with anger and choked with indignation. “That was all that was lacking. How stupid you are! how stupid you are! Is it possible that I could have married such an idiot! Well, go and look for it, and see that you find it. I am going on to Versailles with monsieur. I do not want to sleep in the wood.” “Yes, my dear,” he replied gently. “Where shall I find you?” A restaurant had been recommended to me. I gave him the address. He turned back and, stooping down as he searched the ground with anxious eyes, he moved away, screaming “tuituit” every few moments. We could see him for some time until the growing darkness concealed all but his outline, but we heard his mournful “tuituit,” shriller and shriller as the night grew darker. As for me, I stepped along quickly and happily in the soft twilight, with this little unknown woman leaning on my arm. I tried to say pretty things to her, but could think of nothing. I remained silent, disturbed, enchanted. Our path was suddenly crossed by a high road. To the right I perceived a town lying in a valley. What was this place? A man was passing. I asked him. He replied: “Bougival.” I was dumfounded. “What, Bougival? Are you sure?” “Parbleu, I belong there!” The little woman burst into an idiotic laugh. I proposed that we should take a carriage and drive to Versailles. She replied: “No, indeed. This is very funny and I am very hungry. I am really quite calm. My husband will find his way all right. It is a treat to me to be rid of him for a few hours.”