And he came in silence, but his lips wrinkled off his teeth, swift as a lion and looking in fact as big as a yearling lioness and not unlike one in outline and color.
The Aquitanian from under the litter flew at him with a snarl, the Molossian replied with a louder snarl, the two dogs clinched and tore each other, snarling, and hung to each other, worrying and growling and snarling, to the delight of my bearers.
Out of the Satronian mansion poured a small mob of footmen, lackeys and such house-slaves.

But not one dared approach the two dogs.

At a safe distance they watched the fight.
I seized the dogs, spoke to them, quieted them, separated them and when I ordered them, they lay down side by side under the litter.
I climbed in.
As my bearers shouldered the litter, the Satronian doorkeeper came forward and said truculently: "That is our dog under your litter." "Is he your dog ?" I retorted.

"Prove it! Take hold of him." The doorkeeper tried and the Molossian snarled at him.

He called the footmen to help him.
At that somehow, I both lost my temper and felt prankish.
"Chase 'em, Terror," I called.