"

Though the Parisian was less than ten paces off, the old man did not
turn his head, but kept looking at the opposite bank with a fixity which
the fakirs of India give to their vitrified eyes and their stiffened
joints. Compelled by the power of a species of magnetism, more
contagious than people have any idea of, Blondet ended by gazing at the
water himself.

"Well, my good man, what do you see there?" he asked, after the lapse of
a quarter of an hour, during which time he saw nothing to justify this
intent contemplation.

"Hush!" whispered the old man, with a sign to Blondet not to ruffle the
air with his voice; "You will frighten it--"

"What?"

"An otter, my good gentleman. If it hears us it'll go quick under water.
I'm certain it jumped there; see! see! there, where the water bubbles!
Ha! it sees a fish, it is after that! But my boy will grab it as it
comes back. The otter, don't you know, is very rare; it is scientific
game, and good eating, too. I get ten francs for every one I carry to
Les Aigues, for the lady fasts Fridays, and to-morrow is Friday. Years
agone the deceased madame used to pay me twenty francs, and gave me the
skin to boot! Mouche," he called, in a low voice, "watch it!"

Blondet now perceived on the other side of the river two bright eyes,
like those of a cat, beneath a tuft of alders; then he saw the tanned
forehead and tangled hair of a boy about ten years of age, who was lying
on his stomach and making signs towards the otter to let his master know
he kept it well in sight. Blondet, completely mastered by the eagerness
of the old man and boy, allowed the demon of the chase to get the better
of him,--that demon with the double claws of hope and curiosity, who
carries you whithersoever he will.

"The hat-makers buy the skin," continued the old man; "it's so soft, so
handsome! They cover caps with it."

"Do you really think so, my old man?" said Blondet, smiling.

"Well truly, my good gentleman, you ought to know more than I, though
I am seventy years old," replied the old fellow, very humbly and
respectfully, falling into the attitude of a giver of holy water;
"perhaps you can tell me why conductors and wine-merchants are so fond
of it?"

Blondet, a master of irony, already on his guard from the word
"scientific," recollected the Marechal de Richelieu and began to suspect
some jest on the part of the old man; but he was reassured by his
artless attitude and the perfectly stupid e