"Silence--four o'clock--the buck."

At that moment I saw the ears of the roebuck, and soon after the animal itself, pausing for a moment in his leisurely course, just where he ought to be for a good shot. But amazement and trepidation seized me. I fired in a hurry, and the deer bounded off unscathed. "How clumsy," said I to the Pere Seguin, as he emerged from the thicket, "and how unfortunate, for I have some friends coming to dine with me this week."

"Never mind, never mind," replied the poacher; "I will fill your larder to-morrow."

"Well, you are a good fellow, but remember I require also some fish--a fine dish of trout."

"Very well," growled the Pere, "you shall have one;" and without a word more the _braconnier_ is off; and soon after I meet him with his rod, a young fir-tree, on his shoulder, a box of worms as large as snakes, and with the most entire confidence in his piscatory powers, proceeding on his way to the stream that will suit his purpose. In the evening he reappears, taking from the fresh gra.s.s in which he has carried them, three or four magnificent fish studded with drops of gold. White wine and choice aromatic herbs flavour them, and you rejoice in the pleasure and praises of your friends as they partake of the savoury meal.

And now for a sketch, if possible, of this excellent purveyor. Pere Seguin was tall as an obelisk, strong as a Hercules, _vif_ as gunpowder, thin and sinewy as any wolf in his beloved forests. His ear large, flat, and full of hair; his teeth long, white, regular, and sharp as those of his favourite and extraordinary dog; his eyes yellow, calm, and piercing as those of a mountain eagle, and his chin had never been desecrated with a razor. A kind of brushwood covered his face, and through it peeped, with the tip of his hooked nose, the features I have described.

This immense uncultivated beard, tucked carefully within his waistcoat, reached nearly to his waist. Did I say it had never been shaved? I might add, it had never been combed. Lurking in it you might see leaves, white hairs, red hairs, bits of a b.u.t.terfly's wing, two or three jay's feathers, a nutsh.e.l.l, some tobacco, a blade or two of gra.s.s, the cup of an acorn, or a little moss. Indeed, so strangely was it garnished that, when asleep on the gra.s.s under the trees, a robin was once seen to hover over him undecided as to whether she would build her nest in it, or pick out materials to make one elsewhere.

Of uncommon intelligence, peculiarly taciturn, brave, frank, loyal, and incapable of a bad action, his mind was of a gloomy cast; he was always alone, he had no friends, he wanted none, and, if not hunting, reading the Bible or muttering to himself, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He lived like the woodc.o.c.k, sad and solitary in his hole.

The peasants dreaded him, and never spoke of him but as the _Sorcier_, the _Vieux Diable_; when naughty little children refused to learn their letters or to go to bed, it was only necessary to threaten them with sending for the Pere Seguin and his red dog, and the whole of the rosy troop would scamper off to their nursery in an instant.

I need scarcely say that amongst his other perfections he was a perfect shot--the best in the department,--and the moment he touched the trigger death winged his charge at two hundred paces. With a single ball from his rifle would he bring down the wild cat from the highest branches, and cut the poor squirrels in two, stop the howl of the wolf, or shiver the iron frontal bones of the wild boar.

In short, his gun was his joy, his friend, his mistress, his all; he spoke to it, caressed it, rocked it on his knees as a mother would her sick child, and took a thousand times more care of it than he would have bestowed upon the most lovely wife, had he ever done anything so rash as to marry. It was a singular accident that brought us acquainted; and if I had had any respect for chronology, I should have related it before.

One day, when rambling over the mountain in search of game, I put up and fired at a hare; she was evidently hit, and I gave chase, yet though puss had but three legs effective I could not overtake her,

"I follow'd fast, but faster did she fly;"

at last, a bank stopped and turned her, and I was on the point of taking possession when a large red brindled dog dashed past and antic.i.p.ated my purpose, carrying off my hare, without bestowing so much as a glance upon me,--no, not even appearing to see that I was there. Electrified with astonishment, my left leg seemed pinned to the spot, while the right, extended on a level with my shoulder, emulated that of Cerito in "Giselle;" but recovering myself, I followed the thief, who made off with the speed of a greyhound, in the direction of a neighbouring wood, and on arriving at a little green knoll almost as soon as he did, I came suddenly upon a strange and uncouth-looking figure who was reclining comfortably on the gra.s.s beneath the shade of a large walnut-tree.

CHAPTER VIII.

Le Pere Seguin's collation--The young sportsman and the hare--The quarrel--The apology--The reconciliation--The cemetery--Bait for barbel--Le Pere Seguin's deceased friends--The return home.

The extraordinary personage in whose presence I so suddenly found myself was the celebrated Pere Seguin, who, tired with his morning's sport, was taking his noontide meal; that is, appeasing his appet.i.te, always enormous, with a loaf of black rye bread, into which he plunged his ivory teeth with hearty rapidity, now and then taking a mouthful out of a turnip he had pulled in a field hard by. The abominable quadruped was there too, planted on his haunches, just in front of his master, looking as innocent as a lamb, though still holding my hare between his teeth, probably not daring to lay it down without permission.

Pere Seguin ate, drank, twisted his wiry moustache, dipped his turnip in the coa.r.s.e salt, and from time to time cast a glance at his vile dog, without deigning to speak a word, or even to acknowledge my presence.

Furious at this behaviour, I bowed and said to him, "So, you are the owner of this precious cur?"

The poacher signified his a.s.sent by a slight movement of the head.

"Well, if the dog belongs to you, the hare in his mouth belongs to me."

"Does it?" said the Pere Seguin, and he looked at his dog, who winked his eye and shook his paw: "my dog tells me he caught this hare running."

"I know it, the rascally vagabond! and with no great trouble either, seeing that the hare was half dead, and had but three legs to go upon."

Pere Seguin threw his yellow eye on the cur again, and, as if he had understood all we said, he once more shook his paw, and gave a sort of sneeze.

"My dog repeats, he coursed the hare well, and has a right to her."

"What do you mean by saying he has a right to her, when I tell you the hare belongs to me?"

"And my dog says the reverse."

"Go to Dijon with your dog!" I exclaimed, "I tell you the hare is mine."

"My dog never told a lie," rejoined the _braconnier_, and he dipped the remnant of his turnip for the twentieth time in the salt. "Never."

"Then _I_ am the liar," said I, beginning to feel hot, "I am the liar, ah! am I? By Jupiter! your dog, you bearded fool--your cur of a dog? I do not care a _sous_ for his carca.s.s any more than I do for yours. I'll have my hare."

"Don't get excited, young man--don't be savage, I beg of you; for, as sure as I am a sinner, you'll have a crop of pimples on your nose to-morrow,--and red pimples on the nose are not pretty."

"Keep your jokes to yourself, old man, or on my honour you shall repent it!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" grinned the Pere Seguin, "Ha! ha! ha! capital turnip."

"Houp! houp! houp!" went the dog.

I was bewildered; such a strange adventure had never befallen me before.

"Once, twice--will you give me my hare?"

"Have I any hare of yours?"

"You? No, but your dog."

"Ha! that's another affair. You must settle that with him. Take your hare, and let me eat my turnip in peace."

Enraged at this, I rushed at the carroty dog, but he was off in an instant, jumping first behind the tree, and then behind his master, keeping my hare all the time fast in his mouth till I was fairly out of breath, and aggravated beyond expression.

I looked towards the poacher. He was quietly plucking the top off a fresh turnip, but under the air of icy indifference which pervaded his whole exterior I detected a sarcastic smile, which fully convinced me that I was the laughing-stock of man and beast. I took my resolution, and Pere Seguin, who had followed my movements with his eye, said drily, as I was going to put a cap on, "What are you going to do young man?"

"Oh, nothing! just to kill your dog for taking my hare."

"Bah! you're joking."

"Joking! am I? You shall see;" and I proceeded quietly to raise my gun.

"Gently, my lad," roared the Pere Seguin, and he seized the weapon in his iron grasp.

"I may be but a 'lad,' but I'll not give up my rights; the hare is mine, and I'll have her. Let go my gun!"

"No!"

"By----"

"No!"