Out of the Satronian mansion poured a small mob of footmen, lackeys and
such house-slaves. But not one dared approach the two dogs. At a safe
distance they watched the fight.
I seized the dogs, spoke to them, quieted them, separated them and when I
ordered them, they lay down side by side under the litter.
I climbed in.
As my bearers shouldered the litter, the Satronian doorkeeper came forward
and said truculently:
"That is our dog under your litter."
"Is he your dog?" I retorted. "Prove it! Take hold of him."
The doorkeeper tried and the Molossian snarled at him. He called the
footmen to help him.
At that somehow, I both lost my temper and felt prankish.
"Chase 'em, Terror," I called. "Chase 'em, Fury!"
It was a wonder to see the Aquitanian obey, to see the Molossian obey was
a portent.
Into the mansion scuttled the doorkeeper, the footmen, the lackeys, the
hangers-on, the two dogs barking at their heels.
I called them off in time to forestall any lacerated ankles, and still
more marvellously they obeyed instantly, checked, withdrew to under the
litter and there paced, side by side, to Vedia's home.
There, also, I was denied admission, but urbanely, the porter asserting
that his mistress was not at home.
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