Tartar could not have been held in by both of them. He jumped to the ground with joyous barks of recognition.
It was now ten o'clock, and the usual odors of a Parisian second breakfast permeated the atmosphere of the cabaret.
Four or five rough-looking men were lounging about, gossiping over their absinthe or apératif. Monsieur Podvin was already, at this early hour in the day, on his second bottle of ordinaire. Opposite, as usual, sat le Cochon.
Madame Podvin was busily burnishing up the zinc bar, and the vigorous and spiteful way in which she did this betrayed the fact that she was in bad temper. She was reserving an extra force of pent-up wrath against the moment when that "lazy little beast Fouchette" should put in an appearance.
Monsieur Podvin was also irritated, but not because of Fouchette's prolonged absence. He was concerned about Tartar.
Among the various theories offered for these disappearances madame thought that Fouchette was simply playing truant. The dog did not bother her calculation, as he would not share the punishment.
Monsieur was certain that the girl had enticed the dog away from home; though why she had taken her basket and hook if she were not coming back he could not say.
Le Cochon took a gloomy view of it. He was afraid some accident had befallen her,--she might have got run over by a fiacre, or have fallen into the river.
"Nonsense!" protested M. Podvin. "The dog would come home. He wouldn't get run over too, and you couldn't drown a spaniel."
It was precisely at this moment that the loud barking of Tartar broke upon their ears, confirming his master's judgment and sending a thrill through everybody in the room. This sensation, however, was by no means the same.
The brute master alone rejoiced for pure love of the dog and for the dog's sake.
Madame Podvin went in search of a certain stout strap used upon Fouchette on special occasions of ceremonial penological procedure.
Two strange men seated at some distance from each other, and who up to that moment had ignored each other's existence, exchanged looks of intelligence and rose as if to leave the place.
Le Cochon alone seemed disconcerted. His beetle brows clouded, and his right hand involuntarily sought the handle of his knife.