sse_--"was always amusing, and a great blessing to men,
since it created the appetite of the wolf and was an excuse to get rid
of the ladies." He told me, too, as he adjusted his monocle safely in
the corner of his aristocratic aquiline nose, that his favourite saint
was St. Hubert. He would have liked to have known him--he must have
been a _bon garcon_, this patron saint of hunting.

"Ah! _Les femmes!_" he sighed, as he straightened his erect torso, that
had withstood so many Parisian years, against the back of his chair.
"Ah! _Les femmes!_ But in zee fields zey cannot follow us? _Hein?_" He
laughed, lapsing into his broken English. "Zey cannot follow us through
zee hedges, ovaire zee rough grounds, in zee rains, in zee muds. Nevaire
take a woman hunting," he counselled me sotto voce beneath his vibrant
hand, for Alice de Breville was present. "One can _nevaire_ make love
and kill zee agile little game at zee same time. _Par exemple!_ You
whispaire somezing in madame's leetle ear and brrrh! a partridge--_que
voulez-vous, mon cher?_" he concluded, with a shrug. "It is quite
impossible--_quite_ impossible."

I told him leisurely, as we sipped our liqueur, of the hunting in my own
country, of the lonely tramps in the wilderness following a line of
traps in the deep snow, the blind trails, the pork sandwich melted
against the doughnuts at noon, leaking lean-tos, smoky fires, and bad
coffee.

"_Parbleu!_" he roared. "You have not zee rendezvous? You have not zee
hunting breakfast? I should be quite ill--you hunt like zee Arabs--like
zee gipsies--ah, yes, I forget--zee warm sandwich and zee native nuts."

He tapped the table gently with his rings, smiling the while
reminiscently into his glass, then, turning again to me, added
seriously:

"It is not all zee play--zee hunt. I have had zee legs broken by zee
fatigue. Zee good breakfast is what you say 'indispensable' to break zee
day. Zee good stories, zee camaraderie, zee good kind wine--_enfin
tout!_ But"--and again he leaned nearer--"but _not zee_
ladies--_nevaire_--only zee memories."

I repeat, it was nice of the Baron to think of me. I could easily
picture to myself as I reread his note his superb estate, that
stronghold of his ancestors; the hearty welcome at its gates; the
gamekeepers in their green fustians; the pairs of perfectly trained
dogs; the abundance of partridges and hares; and the breakfast in the
old chateau, a feast that would be replete with wit an