"Well, give me the casque," said his master, "and you take my barret;" and receiving the _chapel de fer_ from the boy's hands, he placed it on his head, raised the visor till it rested against the crest, and rode slowly on towards the attendant of the chase, who, with all a sportsman's eagerness, was watching down the avenue attentively. "Good morning, my friend," said the gentleman in French. "Good afternoon, sir," answered the piqueur; for the vulgar are always very careful to be exact in their time of day. He did not look round, however, and the stranger went on to inquire if the King were not hunting in the forest. The man now turned and eyed the questioner. His splendid arms showed he was a gentleman; and he was alone, so that no treason could be intended. "Yes, sir," replied the piqueur; "I expect him this way every minute. Do you want to see him?" "Why, not exactly," said the stranger. "Some of the people told me the good Duke of Burgundy was with him; and, as it is he with whom I want to speak, if their report be true, it may save me a ride to Paris." "The good Duke is with the King," rejoined the man; "but s'life I know not whether he will be so long: for fortune alters favour, they say, and times have changed of late--though it is no business of mine, and so I say nothing; but the Duke was ever a friend to the Commons, and to the citizens of Paris more than all." "Have they had good sport to-day?" demanded Richard of Woodville; for doubtless the reader has already discovered one of the interlocutors in this dialogue. "'Tis somewhat late in the year, is it not, piqueur?" "Ay that it is, for sundry kinds of game," replied the man; "but there are some not out, and others just coming in; and we are obliged to suit ourselves to the poor old King's health. He is free just now from his black sickness, and would have had a glorious day of it, had not Achille, the subveneur, who is always wrong, and always knows better than any one else, mistaken which way the _piste_ lay. But hark! they are blowing the death: the beast has been killed, and not past this way, foul fall him. My dogs have not had breath to-day." "Then they will not come hither, I suppose?" said Richard of Woodville. "Oh, yes! 'tis a thousand chances to one they will," answered the man. "If they force another beast, they must quit that ground, and cross the road to Senlis; and if they return with what they have got, they must take the Paris avenue, so that in either case they will come here."