Nettuno, who had been crouching with his
bushy tail between his legs, barked, seemed to arouse with renewed
courage, and then leaped with evident joy and good-will upon the back of
his old antagonist Uberto.
The dog of St. Bernard was alone. But his air and all his actions were
those of an animal whose consciousness was wrought up to the highest pitch
permitted by the limits nature had set to the intelligence of a brute. He
ran from one to another, rubbed his glossy and solid side against the
limbs of all, wagged his tail, and betrayed the usual signs that creatures
of his species manifest, when their instinct is most alive. Luckily he had
a good interpreter of his meaning in the guide, who, knowing the habits,
and, if it may be so expressed, the intentions of the mastiff, feeling
there was not a moment to lose if they would still preserve the feebler
members of their party, begged the others to hasten the necessary
dispositions to profit by this happy meeting. The females were supported
as before, the mules fastened together, and Pierre, placing himself in
front, called cheerfully to the dog, encouraging him to lead the way.
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