lang right up to the deep-blue sky; some brethren
of the Misericordia went by bearing a black bier; a large sheaf of
glowing flowers--dahlias, zinnias, asters, and daturas--was borne
through the huge arched door of the church near St. Mark and his open
book. Lolo looked on at it all, and so did Moufflou, and a stranger
looked at them as he left the church.

"You have a handsome poodle there, my little man," he said to Lolo, in a
foreigner's too distinct and careful Italian.

"Moufflou is beautiful," said Lolo, with pride. "You should see him when
he is just washed; but we can only wash him on Sundays, because then
Tasso is at home."

"How old is your dog?"

"Three years old."

"Does he do any tricks?"

"Does he!" said Lolo, with a very derisive laugh: "why, Moufflou can do
anything! He can walk on two legs ever so long; make ready, present, and
fire; die; waltz; beg, of course; shut a door; make a wheelbarrow of
himself; there is nothing he will not do. Would you like to see him do
something?"

"Very much," said the foreigner.

To Moufflou and to Lolo the street was the same thing as home; this
cheery _piazzetta_ by the church, so utterly empty sometimes, and
sometimes so noisy and crowded, was but the wider threshold of their
home to both the poodle and the child.

So there, under the lofty and stately walls of the old church, Lolo put
Moufflou through his exercises. They were second nature to Moufflou, as
to most poodles. He had inherited his address at them from clever
parents, and, as he had never been frightened or coerced, all his
lessons and acquirements were but play to him. He acquitted himself
admirably, and the crockery-venders came and looked on, and a sacristan
came out of the church and smiled, and the barber left his customer's
chin all in a lather while he laughed, for the good folk of the quarter
were all proud of Moufflou and never tired of him, and the pleasant,
easy-going, good-humored disposition of the Tuscan populace is so far
removed from the stupid buckram and whale-bone in which the new-fangled
democracy wants to imprison it.

The stranger also was much diverted by Moufflou's talents, and said,
half aloud, "How this clever dog would amuse poor Victor! Would you
bring your poodle to please a sick child I have at home!" he said, quite
aloud, to Lolo, who smiled and answered that he would. Where was the
sick child?

"At the Gran Bretagna; not far off," said the gentleman. "Come this