So it is said.

But they don't look it.
They sleep in the streets these days.

They are my compass--my guide.
When I see the dogs sleep placidly on, while men, sheep, geese, and all moving things turn out and go around them, I know I am not in the great street where the hotel is, and must go further.

In the Grand Rue the dogs have a sort of air of being on the lookout--an air born of being obliged to get out of the way of many carriages every day--and that expression one recognizes in a moment.

It does not exist upon the face of any dog without the confines of that street.