They offered the dog that evening a good dish of soup with a piece of
butter in it. He swallowed every morsel of it, and as he wagged his tail
with delight Rose put him in her apron.

They walked quickly, like thieves, across the plain. They soon perceived
the chalk pit and walked up to it. Mme. Lefevre leaned over to hear if
any animal was moaning. No, there were none there; Pierrot would be
alone. Then Rose, who was crying, kissed the dog and threw him into the
chalk pit, and they both leaned over, listening.

First they heard a dull sound, then the sharp, bitter, distracting cry of
an animal in pain, then a succession of little mournful cries, then
despairing appeals, the cries of a dog who is entreating, his head raised
toward the opening of the pit.

He yelped, oh, how he yelped!

They were filled with remorse, with terror, with a wild inexplicable
fear, and ran away from the spot. As Rose went faster Mme. Lefevre cried:
"Wait for me, Rose, wait for me!"

At night they were haunted by frightful nightmares.

Mme. Lefevre dreamed she was sitting down at table to eat her soup, but
when she uncovered the tureen Pierrot was in it. He jumped out and bit
her nose.

She awoke and thought she heard him yelping still. She listened, but she
was mistaken.