the armchair, had settled down for a nap. 

 "So," nodded the young man aloud, "I shall not even have Pitchouné." 

 He smoked, musing. In the rigid discipline of his soldier's life he was used to obedience. His softened eyes, however, and his nervous fingers as they pulled at his mustache, showed that the command had touched him. 

 "What shall I do with you, old fellow?" 

     Sabron and Pitchouné 

 Although Sabron's voice was low, the dog, whose head was down upon his paws, turned his bright brown eyes on his master with so much confidence and affection that it completed the work. Sabron walked across the floor, smoking, the spurs on his heels clanking, the light shining on his brilliant boots and on his form. He was a splendid-looking man with race and breeding, and he combined with his masculine force the gentleness of a woman. 

 "They want me to be lonely," he thought.  "All that the chiefs consider is the soldier—not the man—even the companionship of my dog is denied me. What do they think I am going to do out there in the long eastern evenings?"  He reflected.  "What does the world expect an uncompanioned wanderer to do?"  There are many things and the less thought about them, the better. 

 "A letter for Monsieur le Capitaine."  Brunet returned with a note which he presented stiffly, and Pitchouné, who chose in his little brain to imagine Brunet an intruder, sprang from the chair like lightning, rushed at the servant, seized the leg of his pantaloons and began to worry them, growling, Brunet regarding him with adoration. Sabron had not thought aloud the last words of the telegram, which he had used to light his cigarette. 

 "... Nor will it be necessary to take a personal servant. The indigenes are capable ordonnances." 

 As he took the letter from Brunet's salver he said curtly: 

 "I am ordered to Algiers and I shall not take horses nor Pitchouné." 

 The dog, at the mention of his name, set Brunet's leg free and stood quiet, his head lifted. 

 "Nor you either, mon brave Brunet."  Sabron put his hand on his servant's shoulder, the first familiarity he had ever shown a man who served him with devotion, and who would have 

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