ith provisions, although
the steel point of a murderous salmon-gaff protruded from the mouth of
the sack and curved over his shoulder.

The village square in Paradise was nearly deserted. The children had
raced away to follow the newly arrived gendarmes as closely as they
dared, and the women were in-doors hanging about their men, whom the
government summoned to Lorient.

There were, however, a few people in the square, and these the Lizard
was very careful to greet. Thus we passed the mayor, waddling across
the bridge, puffing with official importance over the arrival of the
gendarmes. He bowed to me; the Lizard saluted him with, "Times are
hard on the fat!" to which the mayor replied morosely, and bade him go
to the devil.

"Au revoir, donc," retorted the Lizard, unabashed. The mayor bawled
after him a threat of arrest unless he reported next day in the
square.

At that the poacher halted. "Don't you wish you might get me!" he
said, tauntingly, probably presuming on my conditional promise.

"Do you refuse to report?" demanded the mayor, also halting.

"Et ta soeur!" replied the poacher; "is she reporting at the
caserne?"

The mayor replied angrily, and a typical Breton quarrel began, which
ended in the mayor biting his thumb-nail at the Lizard and wishing
him "St. Hubert's luck"--an insult tantamount to a curse.

Now St. Hubert was a mighty hunter, and his luck was proverbially
marvellous. But as everything goes by contrary in Brittany, to wish a
Breton hunter good luck was the very worst thing you could do him. Bad
luck was certain to follow--if not that very day, certainly,
inexorably, _some_ day.

With wrath in his eyes the Lizard exhausted his profanity, stretching
out his arm after the retreating mayor, who waddled away,
gesticulating, without turning his head.

"Come back! Toad! Sourd! V-Snake! Bat of the gorse!" shouted the
Lizard. "Do you think I'm afraid of your spells, fat owl of Faouet?
Evil-eyed eel! The luck of Ker-Ys to you and yours! Ho fois! Do you
think I am frightened--I, Robert the Lizard? Your wife is a camel and
your daughter a cow!" The mayor was unmarried, but it didn't matter.
And, moreover, as that official was now out of ear-shot, the Lizard
turned anxiously to me.

"Don't tell me you are superstitious enough to care what the mayor
said," I laughed.

"Dame, m'sieu, we shall have no luck to-day. To-morrow it doesn't
matter--but if we go to-day, bad luck must come to us."

"T