exclamation in reply to the
Lizard's greeting, then a purely Parisian string of profanity, which
terminated as I counted one hundred and crept forward to the mossy
edge of the bank, under the yellow beech leaves.

Below me stood the Lizard, intently watching a figure crouched on
hands and knees before a small, iron-bound box.

The person addressed as Tric-Trac promptly tried to hide the box by
sitting down on it. He was a young man, with wide ears and unhealthy
spots on his face. His hair, which was oily and thick, he wore neatly
plastered into two pointed love-locks. This not only adorned and
distinguished him, but it lent a casual and detached air to his ears,
which stood at right angles to the plane of his face. I knew that
engaging countenance. It was the same old Tric-Trac.

"Zut, alors!" repeated Tric-Trac, venomously, as the poacher smiled
again; "can't you give the company notice when you come in?"

"Did you expect me to ring the tocsin?" asked the Lizard.

"Flute!" snarled Tric-Trac. "Like a mud-rat, you creep with no
sound--c'est pas polite, nom d'un nom!"

He began nervously brushing the pine-needles from his skin-tight
trousers, with dirty hands.

"What's that box?" asked the Lizard, abruptly.

"Box? Where?" A vacant expression came into Tric-Trac's face, and he
looked all around him except at the box upon which he was sitting.

"Box?" he repeated, with that hopeless effrontery which never deserts
criminals of his class, even under the guillotine. "I don't see any
box."

"You're sitting on it," observed the Lizard.

"_That_ box? Oh! You mean _that_ box? Oh!" He peeped at it between
his meagre legs, then turned a nimble eye on the poacher.

"What's in it?" demanded the poacher, sullenly.

"Don't know," replied Tric-Trac, with brisk interest. "I found it."

"_Found_ it!" repeated the Lizard, scornfully.

"Certainly, my friend; how do you suppose I came by it?"

"You stole it!"

They faced each other for a moment.

"Supposition that you are correct; what of it?" said the young
ruffian, calmly.

The Lizard was silent.

"Did you bring me anything to chew on?" inquired Tric-Trac, sniffing
at the poacher's sack.

"Bread, cheese, three pheasants, cider--more than I eat in a week,"
said the Lizard, quietly. "It will cost forty sous."

He opened his sack and slowly displayed the provisions.

I looked hard at the iron-bound box.

_On one end was painted the Geneva cross._ Dr. Delmont and