“Now, one evening, after a long walk, as I was making my way home with great strides so as not to be late, I saw a dog trotting toward me.  He was a species of red spaniel, very lean, with long curly ears.

“When he was ten paces away from me he stopped.  I did the same.  Then he began wagging his tail, and came over to me with short steps and nervous movements of his whole body, bending down on his paws as if appealing to me, and softly shaking his head.  I spoke to him.  He then began to crawl along in such a sad, humble, suppliant manner that I felt the tears coming into my eyes.  I approached him; he ran away, then he came back again; and I bent down on one knee trying to coax him to approach me, with soft words.  At last, he was within reach of my hands, and I gently and very carefully stroked him.

“He gained courage, gradually rose and, placing his paws on my shoulders, began to lick my face.  He followed me to the house.

“This was really the first being I had passionately loved, because he returned my affection.  My attachment to this animal was certainly exaggerated and ridiculous.  It seemed to me in a confused sort of way that we were two brothers, lost on this earth, and therefore isolated and without defense, one as well as the other.  He never again quitted my side.  He slept at the foot of my bed, ate at the table in spite of the objections of my parents, and followed me in my solitary walks.

“I often stopped at the side of a ditch, and sat down in the grass.  Sam immediately rushed up, lay down at my feet, and lifted up my hand with his muzzle that I might caress him.

“One day toward the end of June, as we were on the road from Saint-Pierre de Chavrol, I saw the diligence from Pavereau coming along.  Its four horses were going at a gallop, with its yellow body, and its imperial with the black leather hood.  The coachman cracked his whip; a cloud of dust rose up under the wheels of the heavy vehicle, then floated behind, just as a cloud would do.

“Suddenly, as the vehicle came close to me, Sam, perhaps frightened by the noise and wishing to join me, jumped in front of it.  A horse’s hoof knocked him down.  I saw him roll over, turn round, fall back again beneath the horses’ feet, then the coach gave two jolts, and behind it I saw something quivering in the dust on the road.  He was nearly cut in two; all his intestines were hanging out and blood was spurting from the wound.  He tried to get up, to walk, but he could only move his two front paws, and scratch the ground with them, as if to make a hole.  The two others were already dead.  And he howled dreadfully, mad with pain.

“He died in a few minutes.  I cannot describe how much I felt and suffered.  I was confined to my room for a month.

“One night, my father, enraged at seeing me so affected by such a trifling occurrence, exclaimed: 

“’How will it be when you have real griefs—­if you lose your wife or children?’