"On my faith, baron, I have never heard dogs with better throats than yours. By St. Hubert! here is something to make the true huntsman's heart beat!" Then, without noticing the governor, he began to examine in detail, with serious interest, the qualities of the dogs who approached him; and exclaimed, in a tone of increasing admiration: "Good dogs! brave dogs! our dogs of Normandy and Poitou are not so good as these; yours have better heads, are better formed about the flanks. See them! They are the most beautiful dogs of their kind I ever saw in my life! Come here, my fine fellow!" And Létorière took a great white dog, marked with black, by his two forepaws, looked at him with the eye of a connoisseur for several minutes, and, with an air of approbation, said to the baron, who stood by astonished: "That's one of your best dogs, baron; that's one of your blood-hounds, isn't it? He has served you a long time; so much the better; years improve blood-hounds." Confounded by the assurance and volubility of the Marquis, the governor, a downright huntsman, too proud of his dogs to take offence at any attention which they excited, and, above all, struck by the remarks of Létorière about the blood-hound, answered almost mechanically: "But who told you that this dog Moick was my blood-hound?" "How, who told me, baron? First the mark of the collator which is to be seen on his neck, on his worn hair, as clearly as the marks of the breastplate on a draft-horse; and then his deep and hollow voice, which proves also that he never barks. All this is more than enough to indicate a blood-hound to one who is not a novice in the brotherhood of joyous huntsmen. And then what a well-developed nose! and the chase-bone, as salient as a linger! Believe me, baron, in all your life you will never find a finer blood-hound! make the most of him! Ah well! I see there a quarter of venison, which is getting cold; don't let us wait any longer, I am as hungry as forty devils! You shall see how I'll play the knife and fork! Give us your hand, baron! By St. Hubert, our common patron, you are a brave old German; I was told so, and now I'm sure of it." "Monsieur, may I know to whom I have the honor of speaking?" demanded the baron, more and more astonished at the cavalier manner of the stranger. "That's right, baron. My name is Létorière; I have come to speak with you about my lawsuit . . . But as we must see clearly in this chaos, blacker than hell, and as it is now night, we will wait for the day . . . that is to say, to-morrow morning, before talking about it . . . Now, let's go to table, since I have invited myself without ceremony. Excuse the rudeness of my manner, but I am a child of the forests."