The sow, grunting and labouring, led Marpasse away from the rout, and back towards the road. Marpasse, intent on bringing the dame to book for supper, ran on till she came suddenly into a glade with a slant of sunshine pouring through it, and the open land and the road showing at one end thereof. Marpasse followed the sow no farther, for she had stumbled on another adventure that showed more importunity. Marpasse saw a woman in grey leaning against the trunk of a tree. Not ten paces from her stood an old black boar, with the broken shaft of a spear protruding from one shoulder, and a broad trickle of blood running down his left fore-leg into the grass. The beast tottered as he stood, swinging his head from side to side, his little eyes malevolent, his wiry tail twisting with savage spite. Marpasse gave a whistle, and looked like one who has run against a ghost. She saw the boar make a dash at Denise, Denise, who was playing hide-and-seek for her life with him round the tree. The beast missed her, and came to earth, only to struggle up, lurch round, and charge once more. Marpasse clutched her knife, and made a dash for the tree. The boar had missed his blow again, and stood, resting, still dangerous despite the spear head in his side. Marpasse gained the tree with its roots clawing the soil. She gasped out a few words to Denise like a breathless swimmer joining a comrade on a rock in the thick of a boiling sea. “May marvels never cease! You, child, you, as I shall live to kill pigs! Lord, now, keep an eye on this limb of a black satan!” She peered round the tree trunk, and pushed Denise round it as the boar charged again, white tusks showing, snout bloody, his little eyes like two live coals. He swerved and missed Marpasse, but she was on him before he could recover and turn. The knife went home where six inches of steel might reach the heart, and Marpasse, springing aside to escape the mad side slash of the tusks, saw that the gentleman had the _coup de grâce_. He rolled over, struggled up again on his belly, scraped the earth with his fore trotters, and then wallowed amid the beech leaves. Marpasse sat down at the foot of the tree, panting and laughing, her brown face red and healthy. She threw the knife aside, caught Denise by the skirt, and pulled her down lovingly into her lap. “God alive,” she gasped, “what a girl it is! Am I always to be rescuing you from Gascons, and from pigs?” Marpasse was quite joyous. She kissed Denise on the mouth, and then held her away from her, and looked at her with blue eyes that shone. “Heart of mine, is it you in the flesh, my dear? Why, we left you for dead, Sir Aymery and I! And mightily gloomy he was too, poor lording. To think of it, that I should fall on you in the middle of a wood, while I was chasing an old sow!”