Abruptly, from the interior of the caravan, a woman's voice cried:
"Saint-Quentin! Saint-Quentin!"
A head was thrust out of the little window which looked out over the box under the projecting roof.
"A nice thing this! I thought as much! The rascal has decamped in the night. The little beast! Nice discipline this is!"
Other voices joined in the grumbling. Two or three minutes passed, then the door in the back of the caravan opened and a shadowy figure descended the five steps of the ladder while two tousled heads appeared at the side window.
"Dorothy! Where are you going?"
"To look for Saint-Quentin!" replied the shadowy figure.
"But he came back with you from your walk last night; and I saw him settle down on the box."
"You can see that he isn't there any longer, Castor."
"Where is he?"