“What in the world has become of Matamore?” cried Blazius suddenly; “has the wind carried him off to the moon I wonder?”

“Yes; where can he be?” said the tyrant, in an anxious tone; “I can’t see him anywhere—­I thought he was among us; perhaps he is lying asleep among the stage properties at the back of the chariot; I have known him curl himself down there for a nap before now.  Holloa!  Matamore! where are you? wake up and answer us!” But no Matamore responded, and there was no movement under the great heap of scenery, and decorations of all sorts, stowed away there.

“Holloa!  Matamore!” roared Herode again, in his loudest tones, which might have waked the seven sleepers in their cavern, and roused their dog too.

“We have not seen him here in the chariot at all today,” said one of the actresses; “we thought he was walking with the others.”

“The deuce!” exclaimed Blazius, “this is very strange.  I hope no accident has happened to the poor fellow.”

“Undoubtedly he has taken shelter in the worst of the storm on the lee side of the trunk of a tree somewhere,” said de Sigognac, “and will soon come up with us.”

After a short discussion, it was decided to wait where they were a few minutes longer, and then if he did not make his appearance go in search of him.  They anxiously watched the way by which they had come, but no human form appeared on the great expanse of white, and the darkness was falling rapidly upon the earth, as it does after the short days of December.  The distant howling of a dog now came to their ears, to add to the lugubrious effect of their surroundings, but they were all so troubled at the strange absence of their comrade that their own individual miseries were for the moment forgotten.  The doleful howling, so far away at first, gradually became louder, until at last a large, black dog came in sight, and sitting down upon the snow, still a long distance from them, raised his head so that his muzzle pointed upward to the sky and howled, as if in the greatest distress.

“I’m afraid something terrible has happened to our poor Matamore,” cried the tyrant, and his voice trembled a little; “that dog howls as if for a death.”

At this speech the two young women turned even paler than they had been before, if that were possible, and made the sign of the cross devoutly, while Isabelle murmured a prayer.

“We must go in search of him without a moment’s delay,” said Blazius, “and take the lantern with us; it will as a guiding star to him if he has wandered off from the road, as is very probable, with everything covered with snow like this.”