was going to take that Satan of a dog with her to America.
"Last year," wailed the tearful Marie, "it was the hateful Pomeranian, and this year it is this little imp. I know he will be the death of me before we get back. He is worse than the other."
Marie wept copiously, and Louis, being a gallant Frenchman, embraced her and Pierre was forgotten.
There was no use of objecting if Madame had made up her mind, so to America the Airedale went, as the most priceless and altogether adorable thing in her possession at the time.
She might love other dogs later on, but now Pierre was enough.
He slept in her stateroom during the voyage, and was waited upon by the disgusted Marie and the other maids, as
