"It's all his own fault," said Chérie, who was tired and hungry. "He might have barked. He knew perfectly well that we were getting out."
"Haven't we taught him to pretend he is sandwiches when we're travelling?" sobbed Mireille indignantly. "How can you be so unjust?"
"Never mind, Mirette," said her father; "don't cry. We will telegraph to Marché to have him stopped and sent back. You will see him turn up safe and tail-wagging in the morning."
And the telegram was sent.
As they walked through the silent, sleeping village of Bomal Chérie inquired, "Why is Loulou not here? She might have come in the motor."
Her brother hesitated a moment. "I have sent away the car," he said.
"Sent it away? What for?" exclaimed Chérie.
"I have ... I have lent it," said Dr. Brandès.
"To whom?" inquired Mireille, trotting beside her father and hanging on to his arm.
He gave a little laugh. "To the King," he said.