'At Clermont, with her sister-in-law. The doctor has recommended her to go to a mountainous neighbourhood. Her state of health has made her weak and languid.' As he spoke he walked on to the house, casting long glances about the yard. He scrutinised his cousin, too, and his lips quivered with an emotion which he struggled to restrain. He showed great surprise as a dog rushed out of the kitchen and barked round his legs. 'What dog is that?' he asked. 'Oh! that's Loulou,' Pauline replied. 'He doesn't know you yet, you see. Down! Loulou! You mustn't bite your master.' The dog went on growling. 'He is dreadfully ugly, my dear. Where did you pick up such a fright?' The dog was indeed a wretched mongrel, undersized and mangy. And he had, too, an abominable temper, and was perpetually snarling, and melancholy like an outcast. 'Oh! when he was given me I was told that he would grow up into a huge, magnificent animal, but he has always kept like that. It is the fifth one that we have tried to rear, All the others have died, and this is the only one that has managed to go on living.' Loulou by this time had sulkily made up his mind to lie down in the sun, and turned his back upon Pauline and her cousin. Then Lazare thought of the old days and of the dog that was dead and of the new and ugly one that now occupied his place. He glanced round the yard once more. 'My poor old Matthew!' he murmured very softly. On the steps of the house Véronique received him with a nod of her head, without ceasing to pare carrots. Then he walked straight on to the dining-room, where his father, excited by the sound of voices, was anxiously waiting. Pauline called from the threshold: 'You know he has come by himself? Louise is at Clermont.' Chanteau, whose anxious eyes brightened, began to question his son even before he had kissed him. 'Are you expecting her to follow you? When will she join you here?' 'Oh no! She's not coming here at all,' Lazare replied. 'I'm going to join her at her sister-in-law's before I return to Paris. I shall stay a fortnight with you, and then I shall be off.' Chanteau's eyes expressed his extreme satisfaction at what he heard, and when at last Lazare embraced him he returned the salute with two hearty kisses. However, he considered that it behoved him to express some regret. 'It is a great pity that your wife could not come. We should have been delighted to have her here. However, I hope we shall see her some other time. You must certainly bring her.'