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Tom was in peril daily hourly. It was no wonder that she revealed the ravages of war upon her mind. "Sh!" whispered Henriette. "Here comes Dolge, the gardener. Now that Bessie is gone he is the oldest person Madame la Countess has in her employ." "I wonder what became of Bessie. Monsieur Lafrane told me she was not apprehended with those men who helped her get away from the chateau."
The little tea party was interrupted by the appearance of Dolge at the library door. "A young American in an ambulance inquires for Mademoiselle Fielding at the gate," said Dolge, cap in hand. "She is needed in haste, below there at the hospital."
But Ruth had her doubts about this son who was always in Paris and never at the front. Henriette was too bashful to remain longer than Ruth, so she rose to go as well. The countess kissed her little neighbor and sent her favor to the girl's father and mother. Major Marchand accompanied the two visitors out of the chateau and toward the entrance gate, which Dolge had not opened.
Quickly and skilfully, with a fine knitting needle, the countess ripped from this rubber casing what the girl thought looked like a twist of oiled paper. "All right, my good Dolge. You may let him go," she said, hiding the twist of paper in her palm. "Let him rest poor fellow!" She patted the greyhound with the sole of her slipper and the big dog yawned; then laid his head upon his paws.
Besides, she was desperately eager to know what would be done to Bubu, or with him, now that he had returned to the chateau. It was not unwillingly that the girl accompanied the countess. It was some distance around the great building to the rear. They came upon the excited Dolge and the big dog, the latter lapping water out of a pan near the well house. "Non! non!" cried the countess warningly.
"The collar, Dolge," commanded Madame la Countess. The old man hobbled forward with the wide leather strap attached to the chain. The strap was decorated with big brass rivet heads. She buckled it around the neck of the panting dog. He lapped her hands. "Ah, naughty one," she murmured, "would you run the fields like a wild dog? The blanket, Dolge. He may take cold."
"Not that, Dolge. He must not be allowed too much cold water after his so-exciting run. It is not good for him." The gardener stooped to take the pan away, and the greyhound growled. "Oh, la, la!" mumbled Dolge. "Name of a mouse! Would you butcher me, you of bloody mind?" Ruth noticed that the barrel of the greyhound was almost white, which assisted in giving him that ghostly appearance at night.
Already the gardener was bringing the covering. They fastened it about Bubu, who finally shook himself and would have lain down had not the countess said sharply: "Nay, nay! All is not yet finished, Bubu. Open thy mouth so!" She forced open the big dog's jaws. Rather, at a touch he allowed her to hold his dripping jaws apart. "Dolge!" she demanded decisively, "can you see?"
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