The man looked pityingly at the poor bleeding remains, and said, in a low voice:
“It was madama’s order, signor. The dog bit her yesterday; we shot him at daybreak.”
I stooped to caress the faithful animal’s body, and as I stroked the silky coat my eyes were dim with tears.
“How did it happen?” I asked in smothered accents. “Was your lady hurt?”
The gardener shrugged his shoulders and sighed.
“Ma!—no! But he tore the lace on her dress with his teeth and grazed her hand. It was little, but enough. He will bite no more—povera bestia!”
I gave the fellow five francs.
“I liked the dog,” I said briefly, “he was a faithful creature. Bury him decently under that tree,” and I pointed to the giant cypress on the lawn, “and take this money for your trouble.”
He looked surprised but grateful, and promised to do my bidding. Once more sorrowfully caressing the fallen head of perhaps the truest friend I ever possessed, I strode hastily into the house, and met Nina coming out of her morning-room, clad in one of her graceful trailing garments, in which soft lavender hues were blended like the shaded colors of late and early violets.
“So Wyvis has been shot?” I said, abruptly.