That day she had got up in a lucky hour; at cards
she took the four knaves, which means the fulfilment of one's wishes
(she used to try her fortune on the cards every morning), and her tea
struck her as particularly delicious, for which her maid was rewarded by
words of praise, and by twopence in money. With a sweet smile on her
wrinkled lips, the lady walked about the drawing-room and went up to the
window. A flower-garden had been laid out before the window, and in the
very middle bed, under a rosebush, lay Mumu busily gnawing a bone. The
lady caught sight of her.
"Mercy on us!" she cried suddenly; "what dog is that?"
The companion, addressed by the old lady, hesitated, poor thing, in that
wretched state of uneasiness which is common in any person in a
dependent position who doesn't know very well what significance to give
to the exclamation of a superior.
"I d . . . d . . . don't know," she faltered; "I fancy it's the dumb man's
dog."
"Mercy!" the lady cut her short; "but it's a charming little dog! order
it to be brought in. Has he had it long? How is it I've never seen it
before? . . . Order it to be brought in."
The companion flew at once into the hall.
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