The boar, plunging through a thicket, made straight for the spot where the horses had been tied, and where the Marquis de Lacheville had taken up his position. "Why does he not fire?" was Tournay's mental inquiry as he followed the trail at full speed, with ear alert in the momentary expectation of hearing the sound of a gun. "Can it be that the marquis is going to risk attacking him with the knife?" And he dashed into the thicket, regardless of the brushwood and briars that impeded his progress, to come out on the other side, leaving a portion of his hunting blouse in the grasp of a too-persistent bramble. Here he beheld so ludicrous a sight that it would have moved him to merriment, had it not overcome him with wonder. The marquis lay sprawling on the grass, his eyes rolling with terror and his loaded gun lying harmlessly by his side. The horses were straining at the tethers and neighing with fright, while in the wood beyond, the boar was disappearing from sight with the dogs upon his haunches. As Tournay approached, the marquis struggled to his feet. For a moment he stood silent and then said gruffly:-- "The brute sprang through the bushes before I expected him; my foot slipped and I fell, so he got by me." In the instant it flashed through Tournay's mind that the marquis had fallen in trying to avoid the boar. He received the explanation in silence, his face clearly betraying his suspicion. The marquis eyed him savagely. "Where are the others?" he demanded. "They have evidently missed all the sport," was the curt rejoinder. The marquis scowled, but his anxiety to conceal the mishap from his companions led him to overlook the ring of sarcasm in Tournay's voice. "Did they hear or see the boar?" he inquired. "I fear not. The animal started too near the centre of the glade, and luckily for him made straight for you." "We have not seen him, either," was the cool rejoinder. "But I saw him," exclaimed Tournay with open-eyed astonishment. "Up in the thicket beyond? Possibly," admitted the marquis, who had now regained his self-possession and had resolved to put the best possible face on the matter. "No! Right here in the open, as he ran into that clump of beeches." "You are mistaken. I did not see him," the marquis insisted, approaching his horse and untethering him. "Monsieur le marquis was possibly not looking in the right direction." De Lacheville mounted his horse. He bent down from the saddle, saying fiercely, "Twice this day you have ventured to oppose me. Have a care! You will rue the hour when you dispute any statement of mine." Tournay looked up at him defiantly, and with a significance too deep to be misconstrued, said: "I will not lie at your bidding, Monsieur de Lacheville." "You insolent villain!" and the marquis' whip fell viciously across the defiant brow. The next instant the nobleman was dragged from the saddle and his riderless horse galloped off through the woods.