The Baron did not press the point, but, as we had finished luncheon, he unleashed his hounds, and, calling them to follow us, led the way into the tangled wilderness he called his garden. As we passed the stables and coachhouse, I perceived that they were shut up and empty. Their owner had not even the means sufficient to keep a riding-horse for himself. As I glanced at his noble bearing and pictured the luxury in which he had probably been reared, I did feel intense pity for his lonely and impoverished condition. ‘We must not forget the object for which you honoured the château with a visit,’ he said as we traversed the grounds, which were of some extent, ‘which was to ascertain if any life remains in the poor old organ; but I must show you my pet first.’ He pushed aside the trailing branches of the bushes as he spoke, and led the way up to a large cave, or den, surrounded by a palisade of stout wood. Inside it, running restlessly up and down, was a splendid wolf of the Piron breed. We girls rather shrunk back as we came in sight of the animal. ‘You need not be in the slightest degree alarmed, mesdemoiselles,’ said our host; ‘for the palings are very strong, and “L’Empereur” is wonderfully tame!’ And, in proof of his assertion, the Baron walked up to the palisades and stroked the wolf’s head. ‘_Eh bien, mon ami!_’ he exclaimed, ‘are you glad to see me again? It is some time since I have paid you a visit, _mon pauvre Empereur_.’ ‘Monsieur, where did you get him?’ asked Ange. ‘I shot his mother in the forest, Mademoiselle Ange, two years ago. Empereur was then a little cub, of perhaps a month or six weeks old. He was easily caught, and I brought him home and kept him in the château, until he took to biting the heels of Denise rather too vigorously as she went about her work, and I was compelled to have this apartment erected for him out of doors.’ ‘He is a strange pet to keep,’ I observed. ‘So several people have told me; but Empereur and I have sympathies in common. His estates, like mine, have been confiscated; for, since St. Pucelle has been a town, the wolves have been driven farther and farther back into the interior of the forest of Piron. Then he is solitary, and so am I; and his misfortunes make him savage, as mine have done to me; and we thirst in common, I think, for the blood of our enemies, and choose the night-time to moan over our wrongs. Is it not so, Empereur?’ concluded the Baron, with a forced laugh, as he thrust his hand again between the open palings, and rubbed the head of his favourite. ‘And a wolf is your family crest, is it not, monsieur?’ I said, with a view to cover the Baron’s last remark, which had made us all feel rather uncomfortable.