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And he has a human dog named Papillon But-ter-fly," she added, still smiling and obviously quoting, "also a parrot." "And a wife," put in Carron sharply. She looked at him, her face stiffening into its old expression of surly hauteur. "You have seen her?" "No. But a friend of mine has. Charley Masterson, Tony. He says she looks like a clean old peasant."
Brigit, vastly amused by their discussing her as if she were not present, gave a bit of roll to the dog. "A quaint little dog," she observed to them both. Joyselle laughed. "Yes, yes, il est bien drôle, ce pauvre. But-ter-fly. And the name, too, hein? Some day I will tell you the story of why I have had nine dogs all named 'But-ter-fly. There is so much to tell you, so much."
And remembering the last days she trembled. She knocked at his door, and a short, familiar bark answered the sound. Papillon. But-ter-fly. Joyselle opened the door, which had been locked, and when he saw her, his face, already sombre, darkened ominously. "Brigitte what do you want?" he asked, not offering to let her in.
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