"Well, I think so, but don't make too sure yet. I really do think though that we have found your dog."
Bertha turned pale and nearly fainted for joy. Her father read her the article and when he came to the part where the journalist told how the dog had spelled, without a doubt, the name "Bertha," she cried:
"There's no doubt about it! It is—it is my dog. Let's go—let's go at once and get him!"
Two hours later the express train going at its fastest to Fontainebleau, bore Bertha and her father and mother.
There was a matinee that day. When Bertha and her family took places beside the ring the performance had already begun. The wild animals had been shown and the second part of the performance announced the appearance of Dog-Clown. This clever individual kept them waiting a moment or two to enhance the importance of his entry. The audience began to grow impatient, cries of "Dog-Clown, Dog-Clown!" were heard repeatedly.
It was a critical moment.
The father, the mother, the daughter sat motionless, wide-open eyes glued to the door through which he would come.
Like a ball which, vigorously hurled, bounces on the pavement, Dog-Clown in a succession of wild leaps went rapidly round the arena.
It was impossible to see his face, especially as he was all dressed up and powdered.
