The little dog had also an imperceptible limp occasioned by a bicycle running over him when he was a puppy.
The two companions seemed immensely to enjoy the spring day. Sabron every now and then stood for a few moments looking into the green of the woods, looking at the gay passers-by, pedestrians and equestrians, enjoying to the full the repose of civilization, the beauty of his own land.
Pitchouné looked with indifference upon the many dogs. He did not stir from his master's side. When Sabron was quiet, the little animal stood at attention; he was a soldier's dog. He could have told dog stories to those insignificant worldly dogs—could have told of really thrilling adventures. His brown eyes were pathetic with their appeal of affection as they looked up at his beloved master. He had a fund of experience such as the poodles and the terriers led by their owners, could not understand. Therefore Pitchouné was indifferent to them. Not one of those petted, ridiculous house dogs could have run for miles in the dark across an African desert, could have found the regiment and fetched relief to his master. Pitchouné was proud of it. He was very well satisfied with his career. He was still young; other deeds of valor perhaps lay before him—who can tell? At any rate, he had been shown about at the ministry of war, been very much admired, and he was a proud animal.
When Sabron spoke to him he leaped upon him and wagged his tail. After a few moments, as the two stood near the exit of an allée leading to one of the grand avenues, Pitchouné slowly went in front of his master and toward two ladies sitting on a bench in the gentle warmth of the May sunlight. Pitchouné, moved from his usual indifference, gave a short bark, walked up to the ladies, and began to snuff about their feet. The younger lady exclaimed, and then Sabron, lifting his hat, came forward, the crimson color beating in his dark tanned cheeks.
The Marquise d'Esclignac held out both hands to the officer:
"It's nearly noon," she said, "and you don't forget that you have promised to lunch with us, do you, Monsieur le Capitaine?"
Sabron, bending over her hand, assured her that he had not forgotten. Then his eyes traveled to her companion. Miss Redmond wore a very simple dress, as was her fashion, but the young officer from Africa who had not seen her near by until now and who had only caught a glimpse of her across the opera-house, thought that he had never seen such a beautiful dress in all his life. It was made of soft gray cloth and fitted her closely, and in the lapel of her mannish little buttonhole she wore a few Parma violets. He recognized them. They had come from a bunch that he had sent her the night before. He kissed her hand, and they stood talking together, the three of them, for a few moments, Pitchouné stationing himself as a sentinel by Miss Redmond's side.
The Marquis d'Esclignac rose. The young girl rose as well, and they walked on together.
"Mes enfants," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "don't go with your usual rush, Julia. Remember that Monsieur de Sabron is not as strong as Hercules yet. I will follow you with Pitchouné."
But she spoke without knowledge of the dog. Now feeling that some unwonted happiness had suddenly burst upon the horizon that he knew, Pitchouné seemed suddenly seized with a rollicking spirit such as had been his characteristic some years ago. He tore like mad down the path in front of Sabron and Miss Redmond. He whirled around like a dervish, he dashed across the road in front of automobiles, dashed back again, springing upon his master and whining at the girl's feet.