The Red Collar by Jean-Christophe Rufin, Adriana Hunter

behind the piano, laughing loudly, studied the bodies lying there, and dragged one of them into the middle of the living room. It was Solange, the elder of the two little girls, wearing a blue dress with an overly full skirt that gave her womanly curves. The drunk made her stand up and introduced her to the others who were slumped on armchairs. The poor child was terrified. Hugues could see her face, her eyes wide with terror. His first instinct was to come out of hiding to help his sister. But that would only have handed over yet another victim to the gang, who already had five at their mercy. He waited, eyes closed.
    A piercing scream made him open them again. Solange, whose dress had been ripped off by her attacker, was shrieking with all her might. Surprised by this scream, the brigand stepped back. At that exact moment, something launched across the room and leapt onto him. It was Corgan. The man fell backward and struggled to break free, bellowing hoarsely. The dog had grabbed him by the neck and was pinning his prey to the floor, devouring his face. The others were paralyzed with fear, frozen in contemplation of the scene. They soon gathered their wits and got to their feet. The dog let go of his first victim, who was howling in pain, and squared up to them.
    Making the most of the confusion, Hugues came down the stairs, hidden by the banisters. When he reached the hall he opened the glazed door that led into the garden, and fled. The moon had risen and lit up the countryside. He had no trouble finding his way. The village was about half a mile away, as you came out of the woods. He woke the local policeman, who raised the alarm. Ten armed men were soon setting off toward the house. They came across the bandits loading as much food and wine as they could onto the cart. They were fodder for the penal colonies.
    But Corgan was dead.
    Lantier had never forgotten this dog’s sacrifice, but he rarely thought about it. Morlac’s case had made it resurface in his mind. And now he thought of it, he felt this dramatic event had not been without consequence in his life. He had joined the army to defend order against barbarity. He had become a soldier to serve mankind. Which was a misunderstanding, of course. It wasn’t long before war came along and showed him that the opposite was true, that order feeds off human beings, it consumes them and crushes them. But deep down and in spite of everything, he was still bound to his vocation. And that vocation had its origins in the actions of a dog.
    He must have fallen asleep. True, he’d cut short his siesta at the hotel in order to get back to the prison sooner. And now here he was dreaming again as he sat on this bench, stroking the dog.
    Wilhelm still had his muzzle on Lantier’s knee. He was looking at him, swiveling his eyes in a comical way. Lantier gently drew back his leg and pushed the dog aside. Then he stood up and stretched. He straightened his uniform and headed for the prison. The sun had moved round, the square was almost entirely in the shade.
    He knocked at the door, and Dujeux opened up for him. As he stepped inside he heard the dog start barking again in the distance.

C HAPTER V
    I t must have been Morlac’s day for a shower. He was clean and freshly shaven, his hair was combed and he smelled of Marseille soap. The interlude with the dog had put Lantier in a good mood. When he arrived in the cell he sat in his usual place and opened the file.
    â€œWhere were we? Ah, yes! Salonika.”
    â€œDo you really want me to talk about all this?”
    â€œNot all of it. Just the essentials.”
    â€œWell, so we reached the front.”
    â€œWhat did the front consist of in that part of the world?”
    Morlac was scraping under one of his nails with a beveled stick. Now that he was clean, he’d set about scouring every inch of himself.
    â€œValleys surrounded by sort of rounded mountains. There weren’t really any trenches, not