Kashtanka whined and got under his feet, he could not help noticing her. He bent down to her and asked:
"Doggy, where do you come from? Have I hurt you? O, poor thing, poor thing. . . . Come, don't be cross, don't be cross. . . . I am sorry."
Kashtanka looked at the stranger through the snow-flakes that hung on her eyelashes, and saw before her a short, fat little man, with a plump, shaven face wearing a top hat and a fur coat that swung open.
"What are you whining for?" he went on, knocking the snow off her back with his fingers, "Where is your master? I suppose you are lost? Ah, poor doggy! What are we going to do now?"
Catching in the stranger's voice a warm, cordial note, Kashtanka licked his hand, and whined still more pitifully.
"Oh, you nice funny thing!" said the stranger. "A regular fox! Well, there's nothing for it, you must come along with me! Perhaps you will be of use for something. . . . Well!"
He clicked with his lips, and made a sign to Kashtanka with his hand, which could only mean one thing: "Come along!" Kashtanka went.
Not more than half an hour later she was sitting on the floor in a big, light room, and, leaning her head against her side, was looking with tenderness and curiosity at the stranger who was sitting at the table, dining. He ate and threw pieces to her. . . . At first he gave her bread and the
