Gaspard was a little crop-eared dog who was saved from absolute homeliness¹ by the vivacious² and kindly³ expression of his eyes. I do not now recall how he came to domesticate⁴ himself with us, but I do know that I loved him very tenderly.  
One winter afternoon, when he and I were out for a walk, he ran away from me. I consoled myself, however, by saying that he would certainly return to the house alone, and I went home in a happy frame of mind. But when night came and he was still absent I grew very heavy of heart.
 
My parents had at dinner that evening an accomplished⁵ violinist and they had given me permission to remain up later than usual so that I might hear him. The first sweep of his bow which preluded⁶ I know not what slow and desolate

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