In the profound stillness, which seemed wonderfully peaceful and pleasant to him, he fancied that he could distinguish the distant barking of a dog, and that it sounded like Miraut.

He stopped to listen; yes, there could be no doubt about it, and it was approaching.

The baron gave a clear, melodious whistle--a signal well known of old to Miraut-and in a few moments the faithful dog, running as fast as his poor old legs could carry him, burst through a break in the hedge--panting, barking, almost sobbing for joy.

He strove to jump up on the horse's neck to get at his beloved master; he was beside himself with delight, and manifested it in the most frantic manner, whilst de Sigognac bent down to pat his head and try to quiet his wild transports.

After bearing his master company a little way, Miraut set off again at full speed, to announce the good news to the others at the chateau--that is to say, to Pierre, Bayard, and Beelzebub--and bounding into the kitchen where the old servant was sitting, lost in sad thoughts, he barked in such a significant way that Pierre knew at once that something unusual had happened.
"Can it be possible that the young master is coming?
said he aloud, rising, in compliance with Miraut's wishes, who was pulling at the skirts of his coat, and imploring him with his eyes to bestir himself and follow him.