Gradually they approached the regions which Francis had promised them.  Already the rose-red clovers of the setting suns and the luminous fruits of the darkness which were their food grew larger and fuller and melted in their souls into the sweets of paradise.

The leaves and ardent pulp of the fruits filled their blood with some strange summer-like power, a palpitating joy which made their hearts beat faster as they came nearer and nearer the marvels that were to be theirs.

* * * * *

At last they came to the abode of the beasts, who had attained eternal bliss.  It was the first Paradise, that of the dogs.

For some time already they had heard barking.  Bending down toward the trunk of a decayed oak they saw a mastiff sitting in a hollow as in a niche.  His disdainful and yet placid glance told them that his mind was disordered.  It was the dog of Diogenes, to whom God had accorded solitude in this tub, hollowed out of a very tree itself.  With indifference he watched the dogs with the spiked collars pass by.  Then to their great astonishment he left his moss-grown kennel for a moment, and, since his leash had become undone, tied himself fast again using his mouth as aid.  He reentered his den of wood, and said: 

“Here each one takes his pleasure where he finds it.”

And, in fact, Rabbit and his companions saw dogs in quest of imaginary travelers who had lost their way.  They dared descent into deep abysses to find those who had met with accident, bearing to them the bouillon, meat, and brandy contained in the small casks hanging from their collars.

Others flung themselves into icy waters, always hoping, but always in vain, that they might rescue a shipwrecked sailor.  When they regained the shore they were shivering, stunned, yet happy in their futile devotion, and ready to fling themselves in again.

Others persistently begged for a couple of old bones at the thresholds of deserted cottages along the road, waiting for kicks, and their eyes were filled with an inexpressible melancholy.

There was also a scissors-grinder’s dog, who with tongue hanging out, was joyfully turning the wheel-work which made the stone revolve, even though no knife was held against it in the process of sharpening.  But his eyes shone with the unquestioning faith in a duty fulfilled; he ceased not to labor except to catch his breath, and then he labored again.

Then there was a sheep-dog, who, ever faithful, sought to bring back to a fold ewes that were evermore straying.  He was pursuing them on the bank of a brook which gleamed on the edge of a grassy hill.

From this green hill and from out of the under-woods a pack of hounds broke forth.  They had hunted the hinds and gazelles of their dreams all the day long.  Their baying which lingered about the ancient scents sounded like the happy bells on a flowery Easter morning.