The next morning the sky was clear again and the air was fresh and balmy.
Clown was awakened at dawn by the sound of people rushing about, packing up, just as though they were moving house. Without leaving his bed, his eyes still half-closed, he listened closely, and finally understood with what kind of people he had to deal. Then were explained the low growls which had so puzzled and frightened him during the night. The carriages, the cages, were the dwelling places of strange and terrifying animals, such as he remembered having seen at the fair of Neuilly, whither his dear mistress, Bertha, had taken him one evening when he was still a baby.
He had, then, fallen in with an immense traveling circus which, constantly on the move, gave performances in the principal cities of the world. Just now it was headed, by gentle stages, for the center of France. Clown was quite comforted and happy at the thought of one day or another reaching Paris. Then—then—then he would manage somehow to see her again, her for whom he yearned, her whom he loved with all his faithful little heart.
Traveling this way was much nicer than running along the highroad. He was a sturdy fellow, but, all the same, that one day of walking under such conditions had made him somewhat thin. In short, he had had enough of it, especially when he remembered that he hadn't the least idea how to get to Paris.
Slipping cautiously under the tents which sheltered the cages, Clown took a good look around the place.