'Médor? He couldn't be anything but Médor, could he?—Is he one of Mademoiselle Ludérac's rescued animals?' Graham inquired. It was odd to speak of her as if she were not present. But it would, he felt, be even more odd to speak to her.
'Yes. She rescued him. He was tied up, day and night, at a farm. She used to go and see him; and sit with him. It touched the people's hearts, perhaps. At all events, Médor was sold to Marthe.'
Médor, hearing that he attracted so much attention, could remain passive no longer and, with a low, blissful grumbling, he rose and went slowly and stiffly across to where his mistress sat.
'Là, mon cher; là, mon bon chien,' Graham heard her whispering, while she fondled Médor's head. 'Couche-toi;—sois tranquil. You will not be as comfortable as by the fire.'
At this Graham got up, took the hearth-rug and laid it beside Mademoiselle Ludérac.—'So that Médor can be happy body and soul,' he commented and, not looking at him, her eyes on Médor, she murmured, 'Vous êtes trop aimable.'
'Well, now that Médor is settled, shall we read?' said Madame de Lamouderie who had observed this little scene with not unsympathetic eyes.
Graham sat down again at his easel and behind him Mademoiselle Ludérac raised her book and began to read. Her voice was calm and clear. The slow, silver rhythms of 'Dominique' circled through his consciousness and made him think of Gluck's Elysian fields. It
