Nevertheless, when a month was over, these prolonged absences began again. Sometimes he would stay away an hour; one Saturday he was abroad six hours. This irregular behaviour vexed his good master exceedingly. What could the mysterious attraction be that kept his faithful friend like this? He determined to find out.
He had noticed that Azor, the better to elude his vigilance, apparently used always to loiter a bit in front of the house, not starting away before he felt certain no one was looking; then in one bound he would be at the end of the street and disappear.
One day he followed the truant. Now and again the dog would stop, nose all along the pavement, then, reassured, set off again at a trot. He turned the corner, then down a broader street, and so eventually into a square. The clumps of rhododendrons hid him for a moment from his master, who came puffing up; but presently he caught sight of him in the middle of a group of children. He was barking joyously, leaping up at them, rolling on his back in the grass, in transports of delight. They were five little pale-faced things, and among them one face paler still and pinched with illness.
The shock nailed the old man to the spot. Was it possible? Was Azor a traitor to his friend? And he gazed first at the dog and then at the children with the look a man wears who sees an edifice he has long been labouring at crumbling into ruin. He had put his trust in the animal; he esteemed him as well as loved him—and, lo! the ingrate was sharing his caresses with others. He hated duplicity, and his gorge rose at the thought.
“Come here!” he shouted.
Azor knew his voice instantly, and, crawling along the ground like a serpent, he crept up to his benefactor, his tail dragging in the dust. But the latter never so much as thought of punishing him, and patted him on the back gently. Their eyes met; the man’s were full of sadness, the dog’s besought forgiveness. Then, still in the same humble attitude, he tried to draw his master towards the little group of pale faces.
The children had come forward—all except the little invalid, who stayed where he was; and all with one accord, their hands behind their backs, were staring at the new arrival.
Was he going to take their dog from them? Their brows were puckered with anxiety, and as he watched them, he was amazed to think his anger had been so easily roused.
What harm had Azor done after all? Ah! the blow would have been harder to bear if he had betrayed him for another man; but children! The piteous air of the little one who had remained behind touched him so that he took his hands with a smile and asked him if he loved Azor too.
“Oh! yes,” cried the child.