(See p.39-52, "Messengers from Ancient Civilizations") ...My summers of childhood were spent on my family's estate in the Dordogne, France. And inextricably linked with my memories of the hundreds of acres of giant walnut trees, apple orchards, the centuries-old stone buildings, and the stern matriarchal figure of my grandmother, were the magnificent Pyrenean Mountain Dogs which guarded our estate.

It was my grandmother who insisted that I should spend my summers in the healthful atmosphere of the country, and learn something of our ancestral estate...

(See p.46, "Messengers from Ancient Civilizations") ... I was presented to all as Monsieur Edmond, who would one day inherit the family estate, and the sight of all the glorious ladies and handsome gentlemen, in addition the sip of champagne I was allowed to have, made me temporarily forget the dogs and their puzzling behaviour...

(See p.47-48, "Messengers from Ancient Civilizations") ... I have saved the best for the last, and that was Nuage. Nuage was mine, and I belonged to Nuage. He adopted me when we were both pups, following me everywhere, sleeping under my bedroom window at night, even during the winter when I was away in Paris. How I hated to leave him at the end of every summer! But I knew he would be miserable in the city, and besides, our parting brought the result of an ecstatic reunion every May. Nuage was always the first to reach the carriage, and then there was a delicious tangle of small boy and white fur and joyous laughter as Nuage kissed my ears and growled in my ear, "Come on, let's go and play!"...

(See p.49, "Messengers from Ancient Civilizations") ... Nuage was once again to save my life, many years later, this time all by himself. I was in my teens, happy to have a summer away from school, and Nuage and I were again out in the forbidden forest...

(See p.50, "Messengers from Ancient Civilizations") ... Nuage followed me everywhere. As a child, when I sat in my room doing lessons (grandmother believed that summer should not be all play), and later as a young man beginning to write seriously, Nuage was always in his favorite spot under my chair, and I would feel the furry comfort of of his head under my stockinged feet from time to time, answered by a contented grunt. It was the summer of my twenty-second year, when one afternoon I entered my room and sat at my desk, now occupied with important work. Nuage of my childhood, now very old old but still dignified and erect, followed me in and took his place, as usual, under my chair. I kicked off my shoes and tousled his ear with my toe, and he made a contented sound and went to sleep. I worked for several hours. Finally I got up, being careful not to disturb Nuage with the chair. But Nuage had died in his sleep - there in his favorite place, at my feet...