The young woman, suddenly turning towards me: and changing her tone with singular rapidity, said:
“If monsieur will kindly allow us, we will accompany him on the road, so as not to lose our way again, and be obliged, possibly, to sleep in the wood.”
I bowed. She took my arm and began to talk about a thousand things —about herself, her life, her family, her business. They were glovers in the Rue Saint-Lazare.
Her husband walked beside her, casting wild glances into the thick wood and screaming “tuituit” every few moments.
At last I inquired:
“Why do you scream like that?”
“I have lost my poor dog,” he replied in a tone of discouragement and despair.
“How is that—you have lost your dog?”
“Yes. He was just a year old. He had never been outside the shop. I wanted to take him to have a run in the woods. He had never seen the grass nor the leaves and he was almost wild. He began to run about and bark and he disappeared in the wood. I must also add that he was greatly afraid of the train. That may have driven him mad. I kept on calling him, but he has not come back. He will die of hunger in there.”
Without turning towards her husband, the young woman said: