The latter started back in alarm when the huge dog executed that gymnastic feat; the former hurriedly put his hand to his head to ensure the safety of his wig which came near being carried away by one of the dog’s paws.
Ami had performed this spring-board leap in order to join Agathe and to lavish tokens of affection upon her. The girl patted him on the neck; she spoke softly and caressingly to him. Meanwhile Honorine looked all about, for Ami’s presence ordinarily announced his master’s coming.
But was it to be presumed that that strange man, who shunned all companionship, would come to a place where a large part of the village had assembled?
Meanwhile Monsieur Jarnouillard, who had had barely time to catch his wig, but had not been able to prevent its turning half round on his head, was obliged to readjust it before the whole assemblage. That made him very angry, and he shouted like a deaf man:
“Whose cursed dog is this that nearly put my eyes out, to say nothing of jumping over the auctioneer’s head and knocking over two candlesticks and a jug? I want to know to whom he belongs; I shall have a word to say to his master!”
“And what will you say to his master, monsieur? Speak—he is before you.”
The owner of the Tower had made his way through the crowd almost as unceremoniously as his dog, and he stood in the midst of the sale before anyone had even observed his approach.
Monsieur Jarnouillard was thunderstruck at the abrupt appearance of that singular personage, whose aspect was stern and imposing.
Paul was dressed as simply as usual, but he carried neither gun nor stick; his long-vizored cap was pulled down over his eyes, so that the upper part of his face was in shadow.
“Ah! monsieur is the owner of this great dog, is he?” faltered the usurer, resuming his sycophantic air. “Oh, yes—true—I think I recognize monsieur and his dog.”