In truth I could have brought forward two opposing arguments; the isolation of their estate and the ferocious nature of their beasts. He granted only the second, and overturned that in the next breath: “You have seen the chaffinch, the hare and the fox. In their natural state they are incapable of doing harm. Tamed, all beasts sooner or later become dangerous, perfidious, ferocious and false. Well! it’s just the same with men! Free, they are kind and generous. Brutalised by discipline, like that old soldier, they become terrific!” Never had he spoken so much at length, nor, to my mind, so enigmatically. No doubt the emotion caused by the dogs had made him forget, in a direct way, the promise my father had exacted from him. I was surprised at his eloquence, for which nothing had prepared me, and I at once drew practical conclusions from it. I had been brought up to believe in the benefits of authority; that of parents and school teachers. And now it appeared that to be good one must obey nobody. This adventure disgusted us with “our” forest, and we frequented less extensive and more peaceful pieces of woods, preferably those situated on the communal lands, all the more agreeable to grandfather because of his hatred of private property. According to him, property was the great obstacle to human happiness, but I hesitated to adopt his views; I was pretty fond of owning things--for which he cared not at all. As he had promised at the time of our first walk, he communicated to me his knowledge of mushrooms, the round-stemmed fleshy bolet, its dome the colour of a not quite ripe chestnut, the laseras, most beautiful of mushrooms, like an egg of which the shell has just been broken, the yellow, flower-shaped chanterelle were his favourites. I saw him bite, like the priest whose story he had told me, one of those Satan bolets, which turns blue when it is cut, the gash at once taking on the appearance of a frightful wound. Taught by Aunt Deen’s contagious fears, I was persuaded that his lips also would soon turn blue. I gazed at him all terror and curiosity, seeking for the symptoms of danger. But he digested his poison with marvellous ease. “You see,” he observed in triumph, “the worthy priest for once was right. Nature is a mother to us.” Emboldened by this experiment, I gathered from the bushes some red berries that were very pleasing to the eye, but which gave me a sharp colic. Grandfather must be a bit of a sorcerer. If ever we brought home from our hunt a handkerchief full of cryptogams, Aunt Deen, suspicious, would not fail to cry out: “Those horrors again!” She would look them over most carefully, keeping only those that were notoriously good to eat; she excelled in cooking them in butter, or preparing them as an hors-d’œuvre, with a sauce of wine, salt, pepper and herbs, and a dash of vinegar. Thus prepared the little balls, fresh, white and crisp, melted in the mouth. Now that I gathered them I, too, began to eat them.