old fellow, so it does. We are so lonely here, my
poor young master and I, that even the welcome of a dumb beast is not
to be despised. They do say that you have no soul, Beelzebub, but you
certainly do love us, and understand most times what we say to you too."
These greetings exchanged, Beelzebub led the way back to the fire, and
then with beseeching eyes, looking alternately from the face of his
friend to the pot-au-feu, seemed mutely begging for his share of its
contents. Poor Beelzebub was growing so old that he could no longer
catch as many rats and mice as his appetite craved, and he was evidently
very hungry.

Pierre, that was the old servant's name, threw more wood on the
smouldering fire, and then sat down on a settle in the chimney corner,
inviting his companion--who had to wait still for his supper as
patiently as he might--to take a seat beside him. The firelight shone
full upon the old man's honest, weather-beaten face, the few scattered
locks of snow-white hair escaping from under his dark blue woollen
cap, his thick, black eyebrows and deep wrinkles. He had the usual
characteristics of the Basque race; a long face, hooked nose, and dark,
gipsy-like complexion. He wore a sort of livery, which was so old and
threadbare that it would be impossible to make out its original colour,
and his stiff, soldier-like carriage and movements proclaimed that he
had at some time in his life served in a military capacity. "The young
master is late to-night," he muttered to himself, as the daylight faded.
"What possible pleasure can he find in these long, solitary rambles over
the dunes? It is true though that it is so dreary here, in this lonely,
dismal house, that any other place is preferable."

At this moment a joyous barking was heard without, the old pony in the
stable stamped and whinnied, and the cat jumped down from his place
beside Pierre and trotted off towards the door with great alacrity. In
an instant the latch was lifted, and the old servant rose, taking off
his woollen cap respectfully, as his master came into the kitchen. He
was preceded by the poor old dog, trying to jump up on him, but falling
back every time without being able to reach his face, and Beelzebub
seemed to welcome them both--showing no evidence of the antipathy
usually existing between the feline and canine races; on the contrary,
receiving Miraut with marks of affection which were fully reciprocated.

The Baron de Sigognac, for it was i