“Help, help, Octave!” she exclaimed, and her husband, springing to her side, drove away the animal.

“Were you very much alarmed, dearest?” asked he.

“Yes,” answered she faintly; “I was almost frightened to death.”

“I do not think that he would do you any harm,” remarked Octave.

“No matter; make him go away;” and as she spoke she struck at him with her parasol.  But the dog never for a moment supposed that Diana was in earnest, and, supposing that she intended to play with him, as she had often done before, began to gambol round her, barking joyously the whole time.

“But this dog evidently knows you, Diana,” observed the Viscount.

“Know me?  Impossible!” and as she spoke Bruno ran up and licked her hand.  “If he does, his memory is better than mine; at any rate, I am half afraid of him.  Come, Octave, let us go.”

They turned away, and Octave would have forgotten all about the occurrence had not Bruno, delighted at having found an old acquaintance, persisted in following them.

“This is strange,” exclaimed the Viscount, “very strange indeed.  Look here, my man,” said he, addressing a peasant, who was engaged in clipping a hedge by the roadside, “do you know whose dog this is?”

“Yes, my lord, it belongs to the young Duke of Champdoce.”

“Of course,” answered Diana, “I have often seen the dog at the Widow Rouleau’s, and have occasionally given it a piece of bread.  He was always with Francoise, who ran off with that man Daumon.  Oh, yes, I know him now; here, Bruno, here!”

The dog rushed to her, and, stooping down, she caressed him, thus hoping to conceal her tell-tale face.

Octave drew his wife’s arm within his without another word.  A strange feeling of doubt had arisen in his mind.  Diana, too, was much disturbed, and abused herself mentally for having been so weak and cowardly.  Why had she not at once confessed that she knew the dog?  Had she said at once, “Why, that is Bruno, the Duke of Champdoce’s dog,” her husband would have thought no more about the matter; but her own folly had made much of a merely trivial incident.

Ever since that fatal walk the Viscount’s manner appeared to have changed, and more than once Diana fancied that she caught a look of suspicion in his eyes.  How could she best manage to make him forget this unlucky event?  She saw that for the rest of her life she must affect a terror of dogs; and, for the future, whenever she saw one, she uttered a little cry of alarm, and insisted upon all Octave’s being chained up.  But for all this she lived in a perfect atmosphere of suspicion and anxiety, while the very ground upon which she walked seemed to have been mined beneath her feet.  Her sole wish now was to fly from Mussidan, and leave Bevron and its environs, she cared not for what spot.  It has been first arranged that immediately after the marriage they should make a short tour; but in spite of this, they still lingered at Mussidan; and all that Diana could do was to keep this previous determination before her husband, without making any direct attack.