Always he said "Good-morning," and "Good-night." If I was embarrassed, or worried, he would pretend not to notice it, but if I was happy, or sad, he would show his sympathy in a hundred ways—putting his head on my lap, or cutting absurd capers to distract my mind.
And then one day I went away.
I told Ponto when I said good-bye to him that it would be some time before I saw him again.
How was I to explain partings to him? The monstrous rôle that geography plays in our lives? I just told him that I loved him, that his image was in my heart, that our separation was only the preparation of a glorious meeting when old-remembered delights would merge into newly discovered ones.
He listened to me while I stroked his heavy charmeuse ears. He licked my hand, knowing that with my whispering words, I was trying to console myself as well as him.
Then I left him quickly.
They wrote to me that he had disappeared.
They wrote to me that his master had reclaimed him.
But I know that he is mine.
For I have made a great discovery.