“Conduct unjustifiable in any fleas—eh, Bran? How do I know that, though? Why should it not be a piece of excellent fortune for her, if she had but the equanimity to see it? Why—what will happen to her? She will be taken to Rome, and sold as a slave. … And in spite of a few discomforts in the transfer, and the prejudice which some persons have against standing an hour on the catasta to be handled from head to foot in the minimum of clothing, she will most probably end in being far better housed, fed, bedizened, and pampered to her heart’s desire, than ninety-nine out of a hundred of her sister fleas … till she begins to grow old … which she must do in any case. … And if she have not contrived to wheedle her master out of her liberty, and to make tip a pretty little purse of savings, by that time—why, it is her own fault. Eh, Bran?”
But Bran by no means agreed with his view of the case; for after watching the two ruffians, with her head stuck on one side, for a minute or two, she suddenly and silently, after the manner of mastiffs, sprang upon them, and dragged one to the ground.
“Oh! that is the ‘fit and beautiful,’ in this case, as they say in Alexandria, is it? Well—I obey. You are at least a more practical teacher than ever Hypatia was. Heaven grant that there may be no more of them in the ruins!”
And rushing on the second plunderer, he laid him dead with a blow of his dagger, and then turned to the first, whom Bran was holding down by the throat.
“Mercy, mercy!” shrieked the wretch. “Life! only life!”
“There was a fellow half a mile back begging me to kill him: with which of you two am I to agree?—for you can’t both be right.”
“Life! Only life!”
“A carnal appetite, which man must learn to conquer,” said Raphael, as he raised the poniard. … In a moment it was over, and Bran and he rose—Where was the girl? She had rushed back to the ruins, whither Raphael followed her; while Bran ran to the puppies, which he had laid upon a stone, and commenced her maternal cares.
“What do you want, my poor girl?” asked he in Latin. “I will not hurt you.”
“My father! My father!”
He untied her bruised and swollen wrists; and without stopping to thank him, she ran to a heap of fallen stones and beams, and began digging wildly with all her little strength, breathlessly calling “Father!”
“Such is the gratitude of flea to flea! What is there, now, in the mere fact of being accustomed to call another person father, and not master, or slave, which should produce such passion as that? … Brute habit! … What services can the said man render, or have rendered, which make him worth—Here is Bran! … What do you think of that, my female philosopher?”
Bran sat down and watched too. The poor girl’s tender hands were bleeding from the stones, while her golden tresses rolled down over her eyes, and entangled in her impatient fingers; but still she worked frantically. Bran seemed suddenly to comprehend the case, rushed to the rescue, and began digging too, with all her might.
Raphael rose with a shrug, and joined in the work.
“Hang these brute instincts! They make one very hot. What was that?”
A feeble moan rose from under the stones. A human limb was uncovered. The girl threw herself on the place, shrieking her father’s name. Raphael put her gently back and exerting his whole strength, drew out of the ruins a stalwart elderly man, in the dress of an officer of high rank.
He still breathed. The girl lifted up his head and covered him with wild kisses. Raphael looked round for water; found a spring and a broken sherd, and bathed the wounded man’s temples till he opened his eyes and showed signs of returning life.
The girl still sat by him, fondling her recovered treasure, and bathing the grizzled face in holy tears.
“It is no business of mine,” said Raphael. “Come, Bran!”
The girl sprang up, threw herself at his feet, kissed his hands, called him her saviour, her deliverer, sent by God.
“Not in the least, my child. You must thank my teacher the dog, not me.”
And she took him at his word, and threw her soft arms round Bran’s neck; and Bran understood it, and wagged her tail, and licked the gentle face lovingly.
“Intolerably absurd, all this!” said Raphael. “I must be going, Bran.”
“You will not leave us? You surely will not leave an old man to die here?”
“Why not? What better thing could happen to him?”
“Nothing,” murmured the officer, who had not spoken before.
“Ah, God! he is my father!”
“Well?”
“He is my father!”
“Well?”
“You must save him! You shall, I say!” And she seized Raphael’s arm in the imperiousness of her passion.
He shrugged his shoulders: but felt, he knew not why, marvellously inclined to obey her.
“I may as well do this as anything else, having nothing else to do. Whither now, sir?”
“Whither you will. Our troops are disgraced, our eagles taken. We are your prisoners by right of war. We follow you.”
“Oh, my fortune! A new responsibility! Why cannot I stir, without live animals, from fleas upward, attaching themselves to me? Is it not enough to have nine blind puppies at my back, and an old brute at my heels, who will persist in saving my life, that I must be burdened over and above with a respectable elderly rebel and his daughter? Why am I not allowed by fate to care for nobody but myself? Sir, I give you both your freedom. The world is wide enough for us all. I really ask no ransom.”
“You seem philosophically disposed, my friend.”
“I? Heaven forbid! I have gone right through that slough, and come out sheer on the other side. For sweeping the last lingering taint of it out of me,
