."

But Pere Seguin was already striding fast and far through the bending
branches, wilfully, if not really out of hearing, and I had nothing to
do but to watch for the promised game. I had no watch, and it seemed to
me long after the appointed hour, when my reverie was disturbed by a low
voice, from I knew not where,--from heaven, from earth, from a murmuring
brook, from a tree,--which dropped these words in my ear.

"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 grass 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