given his life to save his master's.  "Those," said the officer curtly, "are the orders from headquarters, and the least said about them the better." 

 The ruddy cheek of the servant turned pale. He mechanically touched his forehead. 

 "Bien, mon Capitaine," he murmured, with a little catch in his voice. He stood at attention, then wheeled and without being dismissed, stalked out of the room. 

 Pitchouné did not follow. He remained immovable like a little dog cut from bronze; he understood—who shall say—how much of the conversation? Sabron threw away his cigarette, then read his letter by the mantelpiece, leaning his arm upon it. He read slowly. He had broken the seal slowly. It was the first letter he had ever seen in this handwriting. It was written in French and ran thus: 

 "Monsieur:—My aunt wishes me to ask you if you will come to us for a little musicale to-morrow afternoon. We hope you will be free, and I hope," she added, "that you will bring Pitchouné. Not that I think he will care for the music, but afterward perhaps he will run with us as we walk to the gate. My aunt wishes me to say that she has learned from the colonel that you have been ordered to Algiers. In this way she says that we shall have an opportunity of wishing you bon voyage, and I say I hope Pitchouné will be a comfort to you." 

 The letter ended in the usual formal French fashion. Sabron, turning the letter and rereading it, found that it completed the work that had been going on in his lonely heart. He stood long, musing. 

 Pitchouné laid himself down on the rug, his bright little head between his paws, his affectionate eyes on his master. The firelight shone on them both, the musing young officer and the almost human-hearted little beast. So Brunet found them when he came in with the lamp shortly, and as he set it down on the table and its light shone on him, Sabron, glancing at the ordonnance, saw that his eyes were red, and liked him none the less for it. 

 CHAPTER VII A SOLDIER'S DOG 

 "It is just as I thought," he told Pitchouné.  "I took you into my life, you little rascal, against my will, and now, although it's not your fault, you are making me regret it. I shall end, Pitchouné, by being a cynic and misogynist, and learn to make idols of my career and my troops alone. After all, they may be tiresome, but they don't hurt as you do, and some other things as well." 

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