"The dogs you refer to," said Miss Poles, with great acerbity, "had lived in the society of civilized people."
"Do you mean me to infer from that remark that M. de Guéran is not civilized?"
"I do not understand how M. de Guéran enters into the argument."
"But Walinda has lived in his society, and it appears to me—"
"I have not the least desire to know what appears to you. I merely maintain that this female savage is not a woman."
* * * * *
M. Delange awaited nightfall impatiently. He thought it probable that Walinda would approach the caravan, as on the previous evening, to warm herself and pick up the crumbs of the evening meal. But the sentries, kept awake by a keen north wind, were, for once, on the alert. The Queen did not put in an appearance, and the fears expressed by the doctor seemed likely to be realized. The unhappy creature would die of cold and hunger in some cleft in the mountain.
The thought worried him; he tried to sleep, but he could not even doze. Towards three o'clock in the morning he thought he heard a wailing sound in the distance. He pricked up his ears and listened.
The sound seemed to draw nearer; it became more distinct, and was repeated by the echoes of the mountain.
It was mournful in the extreme, and did not in the least resemble the cry of a human being. It was more like the prolonged howl of a wounded animal, or the baying of a dog at death.