Pritchard replied, 'You could quite well, with management, make them believe you are the neighbour's dog, and after two or three days, n.o.body would know you did not belong to the house. You might live here just as well as those idle useless monkeys, who do nothing but amuse themselves, or that greedy vulture, who eats tripe all day long, or that idiot of a macaw, who is always screaming about nothing.'

The dog stayed, keeping in the background at first, but in a day or two he jumped up upon me and followed me everywhere, and there was another guest to feed, that was all. Michel asked me one day if I knew how many dogs there were about the place. I answered that I did not.

'Sir,' said Michel, 'there are thirteen.'

'That is an unlucky number, Michel; you must see that they do not all dine together, else one of them is sure to die first.'

'It is not that, though,' said Michel, 'it is the expense I am thinking of. Why, they would eat an ox a day, all those dogs; and if you will allow me, sir, I will just take a whip and put the whole pack to the door, to-morrow morning.'

'But, Michel, let us do it handsomely. These dogs, after all, do honour to the house by staying here. So give them a grand dinner to-morrow; tell them that it is the farewell banquet, and then, at dessert, put them all to the door.'

'But after all, sir, I cannot put them to the door, because there isn't a door.'

'Michel,' said I, 'there are certain things in this world that one must just put up with, to keep up one's character and position. Since all these dogs have come to me, let them stay with me. I don't think they will ruin me, Michel. Only, on their own account, you should be careful that there are not thirteen.'

'I will drive away one,' suggested Michel, 'and then there will only be twelve.'

'On the contrary, let another come, and then there will be fourteen.'

Michel sighed.

'It's a regular kennel,' he murmured.

It was, in fact, a pack of hounds, though rather a mixed one. There was a Russian wolfhound, there was a poodle, a water spaniel, a spitz, a dachshund with crooked legs, a mongrel terrier, a mongrel King Charles, and a Turkish dog which had no hair on its body, only a tuft upon its head and a ta.s.sel at the end of its tail. Our next recruit was a little Maltese terrier, named Lisette, which raised the number to fourteen. After all, the expense of these fourteen amounted to rather over two pounds a month. A single dinner given to five or six of my own species would have cost me three times as much, and they would have gone away dissatisfied; for, even if they had liked my wine, they would certainly have found fault with my books. Out of this pack of hounds, one became Pritchard's particular friend and Michel's favourite. This was a dachshund with short crooked legs, a long body, and, as Michel said, the finest voice in the department of Seine-et-Oise. Portugo--that was his name--had in truth a most magnificent ba.s.s voice. I used to hear it sometimes in the night when I was writing, and think how that deep-toned majestic bark would please St. Hubert if he heard it in his grave. But what was Portugo doing at that hour, and why was he awake while the other dogs slumbered? This mystery was revealed one day, when a stewed rabbit was brought me for dinner. I inquired where the rabbit came from.

'You thought it good, sir?' Michel asked me with a pleased face.

'Excellent.'

'Well, then, you can have one just the same every day, sir, if you like.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'IT'S A REGULAR KENNEL']

'Every day, Michel? Surely that is almost too much to promise.

Besides, I should like, before consuming so many rabbits, to know where they come from.'

'You shall know that this very night, if you don't mind coming out with me.'

'Ah! Michel, I have told you before that you are a poacher!'

'Oh, sir, as to that, I am as innocent as a baby--and, as I was saying, if you will only come out with me to-night--'

'Must I go far, Michel?'

'Not a hundred yards, sir.'

'At what o'clock?'

'Just at the moment when you hear Portugo's first bark.'

'Very well, Michel, I will be with you.'

I had nearly forgotten this promise, and was writing as usual, when Michel came into my study. It was about eleven o'clock, and a fine moonlight night.

'Hallo!' said I, 'Portugo hasn't barked yet, has he?'

'No, but I was just thinking that if you waited for that, you would miss seeing something curious.'

'What should I miss, Michel?'

'The council of war which is held between Pritchard and Portugo.'

I followed Michel, and sure enough, among the fourteen dogs, which were mostly sleeping in different att.i.tudes, Portugo and Pritchard were sitting up, and seemed to be gravely debating some important question. When the debate was ended, they separated; Portugo went out at the gate to the high road, turned the corner, and disappeared, while Pritchard began deliberately, as if he had plenty of time before him, to follow the little path which led up to a stone quarry. We followed Pritchard, who took no notice of us, though he evidently knew we were there. He went up to the top of the quarry, examined and smelt about over the ground with great care, and when he had found a scent and a.s.sured himself that it was fresh, he lay down flat and waited.

Almost at the same moment, Portugo's first bark was heard some two hundred yards off. Now the plan the two dogs had laid was clear to us.

The rabbits came out of their holes in the quarry every evening to go to their feeding ground; Pritchard found the scent of one; Portugo then made a wide circuit, found and chased the rabbit, and, as a rabbit or a hare always comes back upon its former track, Pritchard, lying in ambush, awaited its return. Accordingly, as the sound of Portugo's barking came closer, we saw Pritchard's yellow eyes light up and flame like a topaz; then all of a sudden he made a spring, and we heard a cry of fright and distress.

'They've done it!' said Michel, and he went to Pritchard, took out of his mouth a nice plump rabbit, gave it a blow behind the ears to finish it, and, opening it on the spot, gave the inside to the two dogs, who shared their portion contentedly, although they probably regretted Michel's interference. As Michel told me, I could have eaten a stewed rabbit every day for dinner, if such had been my desire.

But after this, events of a different kind were taking place, which obliged me to leave my country pursuits, and I spent about two months in Paris. The day before I returned to St.-Germains I wrote and told Michel to expect me, and found him waiting for me on the road half way from the station.

'I must tell you, sir,' he said, as soon as I was within hearing, 'that two important events have happened at Monte Cristo since you went away.'

'Well, Michel, let me hear.'

'In the first place, Pritchard got his hind foot into a snare and instead of staying where he was as any other dog would have done, he bit off his foot with his teeth, and so he came home upon three legs.'

'But,' said I, much shocked, 'is the poor beast dead after such an accident?'

'Dead, sir? Was not I there to doctor him?'

'And what did you do to him then?'

'I cut off the foot properly at the joint with a pruning knife. I then sewed the skin neatly over it, and now you would never know it was off! Look there, the rascal has smelt you and is coming to meet you.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: JUGURTHA BECOMES DIOGENES]

And at that moment Pritchard appeared, coming at full gallop, so that, as Michel had said, one would hardly have noticed that he had only three feet. My meeting with Pritchard was, as may be supposed, full of deep emotion on both sides. I was sorry for the poor animal. When I had recovered a little, I asked Michel what his other piece of news was.

'The latest news, sir, is that Jugurtha's name is no longer Jugurtha.'

'What is it then?'

'It is Diogenes.'

'And why?'

'Look, sir!'