Outside, the dog kept running round and round the house, silent, watchful, waiting for the door to open.
As time went by, Luc became quieter, but the look of his face was more desolate.

At last he almost ran to the door, threw it open, and called.
The dog sprang into the room, went straight to the fireplace, lay down, and with tongue lolling and body panting looked at Pomfrette with blinking, uncomprehending eyes.
Pomfrette went to a cupboard, brought back a bone well covered with meat, and gave it to the dog, which snatched it and began gnawing it, now and again stopping to look up at his master, as one might look at a mountain moving, be aware of something singular, yet not grasp the significance of the phenomenon.

At last, worn out, Pomfrette threw himself on his bed, and fell into a sound sleep.

When he awoke, it was far into the morning.

He lighted a fire in the kitchen, got a "spider," fried himself a piece of pork, and made some tea.