I felt glad to have it at my side, for in case of a struggle it would be no despicable ally.
Those approaching turned out to be three armed men leading a fourth, disarmed and a prisoner.

They all stopped just opposite my door, which I gently closed and locked, but as I still wished to see what they were about, I slipped into the garden, which lay towards the street, still followed by my dog.

Contrary to his habit, and as if he understood the danger, he gave a low whine instead of his usual savage growl.

I climbed into a fig tree the branches of which overhung the street, and, hidden by the leaves, and resting my hands on the top of the wall, I leaned far enough forward to see what the men were about.
They were still on the same spot, but there was a change in their positions.

The prisoner was now kneeling with clasped hands before the cut-throats, begging for his life for the sake of his wife and children, in heartrending accents, to which his executioners replied in mocking tones, "We have got you at last into our hands, have we?
You dog of a Bonapartist, why do you not call on your emperor to come and help you out of this scrape ?" The unfortunate man's entreaties became more pitiful and their mocking replies more pitiless.