It was not long before Clown's absence was noticed in his old home. The whole household was alarmed. They searched the house from top to bottom, whistling, calling to him, weeping. The servants ran to and fro; nobody could understand how the dog had got away. Huddled in an arm-chair, Bertha sobbed, with hardly the heart or strength to move. In vain they searched all Paris. The police were informed, the pound visited, the description and photograph of Clown scattered broadcast. A large reward was offered to anyone finding him or giving information about him. In spite of all this, the day and night passed without news of the dog.

On the advice of the Chief of Police, Bertha went next morning to the dog-market, accompanied by Marie and the footman. No sooner was she there than Clown, without seeing her, even, sniffed her from afar. He pulled so hard on his chain that he nearly broke it. Alas, where he was, Bertha could not see him. The thief understood at once that something was the matter. He seized the unhappy dog before he knew what was happening, flung him into a box near at hand and banged down the lid.

'Twas thus that poor Clown, at the moment when his rescue seemed certain, learned to his cost that there are times in this life when it is wise to hide one's feelings.

Anyhow, his young mistress was looking for him everywhere. This was enough to make him feel much more cheerful.

That day Clown was sold. When he saw the money counted out, he understood and was at first quite delighted, but his joy did not last long. He soon discovered from the gestures of the two men that his new owner did not live in Paris and that he was leaving that very night, for his home far, far away in the south. Then Clown felt desperate. He shook with rage and fear lest he should be lost forever. He was so upset by his bad luck that he hardly heard the thief offer to take him to the station that evening in time for the train, and his new owner accept the offer.

He lost all hope on hearing that, for his last chance of escape would be gone the minute he was taken away from Paris.

On the way to the station Clown was held so tightly that he saw it would be no use to struggle. When he reached there at nightfall, he was shut up in the hated dog-kennel until the time came for the train to start.

When the noisy whistles blew, as they always do when the great expresses are about to draw out, and the train started with that horrid grating sound they always make, Clown began to sob wildly and to howl in a most dismal fashion. To make it all the worse he saw through the iron bars of his cage the shadows of the last houses of his native city. For a moment he thought he should go mad. Little by little the cool evening air revived him, calmed his fever. Snuggling down in a corner of his box, he determined to wait for the chance of escape which must come some time or other. He would cross the whole of France, if necessary, to find his beloved mistress. Death alone could deprive him of his one great hope.

At last, after passing through Burgundy, the express stopped. It was morning and already quite light. Clown saw his new master approach his prison and open the padlock so that he could come out and stretch his legs on the platform. The prisoner did not hesitate. No sooner was he free than he was off like a shot, tearing along the platform, then back along the railway track, taking no notice of the calls of his master or of the laughter of the travelers, to whom the whole thing was a joke.

Quite happy now, forgetting all his past troubles and full of hope again, he thought that, thanks to his hurried flight, he could not be so very far from Paris.

All morning Clown walked bravely along the dusty road, but at last he began to feel hungry and tired. After going miles and miles, towards midday he was lucky enough to meet in the fields a large flock of sheep, guarded by sheep-dogs. These dogs, when Clown told them his tragic story, were very kind to him and even asked him to share their dinner with them. But they could give no real help as to how to get to Paris.

"All that we know is, that it is several days' walk from here, down that way," they told him, pointing with their paws.

After comforting himself with cheese, milk, and brown bread, Clown left them, thanking them politely for their kindness. All the same, as he set off, he felt very sad, for he saw that the good dogs he had just visited did not think that his plan seemed a very good one, and he began to be afraid he never should get back home after all.

To make him still more uneasy, toward four o'clock the wind began to blow and big clouds darkened the sky. Clown fled along as fast as his legs would carry him, trying to get ahead of the awful storm which hung above his head. But the clouds went faster than he did; the lightning and thunder grew nearer and nearer, louder and louder.

With the storm had come darkness. Now torrents of rain hurled themselves madly from the sky. The poor dog was terribly frightened. He didn't know where to go, what road to take, valley, forest, or hill.

Wet to the skin, muddy, blinded by the rain, deafened by the thunder, he saw no sign of shelter. He just ran on wildly, battered by rain and wind, faster and faster, following his nose.