Bayard came to a full stop as he gazed, and Miraut took
advantage of the pause to endeavour to climb up and lick his master's
face once more; but he was so old and stiff that de Sigognac had to
lift him up in front of him; holding him there he tenderly caressed
the faithful companion of many sad, lonely years, even bending down
and kissing him between the eyes. Meantime the more agile Beelzebub had
scrambled up on the other side, springing from the ground to the baron's
foot, and then climbing up by his leg; he purred loudly as his master
affectionately stroked his head, looking up in his face as if he
understood perfectly that this was a leave-taking. We trust that the
kind reader will not laugh at our poor young hero, when we say that he
was so deeply touched by these evidences of affection from his humble
followers that two great tears rolled down his pale cheeks and fell upon
the heads of his dumb favourites, before he put them gently from him and
resumed his journey.
Miraut and Beelzebub stood where he had put them down, looking after
their beloved master until a turn in the road hid him from their sight,
and then quietly returned to the chateau together. The rain of the
previous night had left no traces in the sandy expanse of the Landes,
save that it had freshened up the heather with its tiny purple bells,
and the furze bushes with their bright yellow blossoms.
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