Generally Clown slept late and did not leave Bertha's room, where he had his bed, until he was ready for the public eye—that is to say, until he was combed and brushed, beribboned and perfumed.

One morning, I don't exactly know why, the maid entered Bertha's room long before getting-up time, and going out again she forgot to shut the door. Clown, once awakened, did not go to sleep again. What he was thinking about I can't tell you. Anyhow he yawned, stretched himself slowly, then crept slyly toward the half-open door, pushed it softly with his nose, and there he was in the hall. It was not far to the kitchen and the pantry door which opened onto the back steps leading into the street was not shut either.

"'Tis opportunity makes the thief," so they say. After a moment's hesitation, after looking carefully at the steps to be sure no one would see and stop him, Clown thought that it would be rather pleasant to take a morning stroll through the streets; he felt proud for once not to be held in leash, and was delighted at the thought of being able to rout at his own sweet will amongst the heaps of garbage, the one thing of all others strictly forbidden him.

Nobody saw him, nobody stopped him. He reached the door; a glance, a sniff here and there, and he was free.

Once outside he walked quietly for a hundred yards or so, nose in air.

Soon, however, he was ready to come back and was just thinking of going in again when he saw at the corner of the street five or six other dogs following a man who was carrying a parcel. This made him curious; there was a queer smell, too, which attracted him. In a trice he had joined the group.

"After all," he said to himself pretty soon, "though the smell is appetizing enough, I have better than that at home. Good-bye, my friends, and good luck. I am going home to breakfast."

Whereupon, giving up the chase, he turned to go home. Alas! it was too late. The man had just thrown a lasso, which caught Clown around the neck. He tried to get away, to cry out, to struggle, to bite; the knot tightened, choking him. He was muzzled, and forced by kicks—the first he ever received in his life—to go, willy-nilly, with the dog-thief. For that was what the man was, and one of the very worst of his kind, too.

It was a fine day, and Paris began to awaken. In the streets there were more and more passers-by, and the man walked faster and faster; Clown, full of sad thoughts, let himself be dragged along. With hanging head he was thinking of his little mistress, how probably at this very minute she had discovered his flight. He saw her despair, and big tears rolled from his eyes; he trembled from head to foot. Perhaps he would never see her again! At this, heart-rending sobs burst from his poor little throat. Sometimes he tried to drive away these sad thoughts by imagining he would soon have a chance to escape from his torturer. If only they did not take him too far from Paris, his native town, he could find his way home again easily enough with his eyes shut.

After a long and painful walk through streets and avenues, the man stopped at last in front of a wretched hut. At the end of a yard, in a corner, there was a horrible kennel, with no cover, surrounded by a strong wooden fence.

Clown, although worn out in mind and body, pulled back with disgust from the door of this evil-smelling hole. The man pushed him in brutally with his foot, and with another well-directed kick shut the door to behind him. Then Clown gave himself up to despair. He felt utterly lost. He would never see his dear ones again. How foolish he had been! How miserable he was!

Attracted by his cries and tears, three beautiful setters, who had been stolen the day before, came out of the back of the kennel and grouped themselves around the newcomer. They did their best to comfort and console him.

After telling one another their sad stories, they talked over ways of escape. The very idea of getting away cheered them up a lot.

It was clear that they were all to be sold.

Next morning they were all tightly chained to one another and the man, whip in hand, led them to the dog-market.

This market was held in a large square, slightly shaded by big elm trees. Ragged old women, squatting on their heels, or crouching on old chairs or baskets, held little dogs on their knees, petting them, cleaning them, offering them for sale to anyone who stopped to look. Some people had dogs on leashes. Suspicious-looking men walked dogs to and fro.

In front there was a long line of hunting dogs of every kind and breed; farther on, a line of pet-dogs; then a group of poodles—newly shaved and beribboned. Here and there were cats, monkeys, parrots, birds of all kinds, and, lastly, guinea-pigs and white rats.

All these creatures barked, whined, mewed, chattered, screamed. The din was beyond description.

Clown, confused, a white poodle on either side of him, was silent. With hanging head he pretended that he had quite given up the thought of escape, but just the same, when no one was looking, he turned his eyes quickly from side to side, ready to seize the first chance to get away.