"My friend, my dear old friend!" murmured M. Paul in broken tones, and he took the poor head in his arms. At the master's voice Cæsar opened his beautiful eyes weakly, in a last pitiful appeal, then the lids closed.
"You cowards!" flung out the heartsick man. "You have killed my dog!"
"It was your own fault," said one of the gentlemen coldly, "you had no business to leave a dangerous animal like that at liberty."
"'My dog, my dog!'"
M. Paul did not speak or move; he was thinking bitterly of Alice's presentiment.
Then some one on the break said: "We had better move along, hadn't we, Raoul?"
"Yes," agreed another. "What a beastly bore!"
And a few moments later, with clanking harness and sounding horn, the gay party rolled away.