"Hurrah! hurrah!" said I; "the _traqueurs_ are on the move, the curtain is raised, the play is about to commence--and, dear friend, be silent as death, for the actor will soon make his appearance on the stage." During the next ten minutes, a murmur of voices and confused sounds were again borne on the wind to the two sportsmen, announcing that the line of beaters was steadily advancing, and now they could distinctly hear them at intervals, striking the trunks of the trees with their long iron-shod poles, thrusting them in the underwood, and shouting in chorus the song of the boar. Again the horn is heard; but now its notes are sharp, shrill, jerking and hurried. "That, my good Adolphe, denotes that the boar has risen, has been driven from his lair, is in view, flying before the beaters, and I am very much mistaken if he does not ere long pay us a visit." Another blast is heard, but in very different tones to the last, and silence is again spread over the forest. "There, Adolphe--there's a joyous and melodious note; it tells me that the monster is following his usual paths--we are sure to see him soon. By St. Hubert, what lucky dogs we are!" But the Parisian answered not, and leaned against his oak, a perfect picture of despair. "Adolphe," I reiterated, "he won't be here yet, but speak low, or we may spoil everything. How do you feel? Do you think you can take good aim, and pull the trigger?" "I feel," whispered Adolphe, "that I am not cut out for boar-hunting." "Bah! Why, the other day you seemed to think it would be delightful, and now you don't appear to like the sport; keep your heart up, be cool, and all will be well;--it is only on grand occasions--those when real danger presents itself, as you told me the other day--that the proofs of undoubted courage show themselves; and then the ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain that you were to soften with your tales of forest life--'Mademoiselles,' you were to commence, 'when I was in Le Morvan, we had famous wolf and boar-hunting, and on one occasion'".... "No! no!" groaned the Parisian, "I shall commence thus: On one occasion, nay, ladies, on all occasions, I much prefer being in your delightful society to that of the boars of Le Morvan." "Nonsense, good Adolphe, you are laughing; why, you were to have the skin stuffed, the tusks gilt, the feet silver-mounted, and the tail was to be scarlet and curly. What! do you think no more about it?" "Oh, yes! and of the cork calves also." "Pooh! have we not two good hunting-knives and four iron bullets in the rifles, and a magnificent oak, a perfect wooden tower, for a breastwork." "Yes! we have all this." "And is not courage your father, and an excellent aim your mother, and is not death to the boar in our barrels?" "Certainly!--death--oh! what a word at such a crisis!"--and on the instant two shots were heard, which made him jump again.