“Curse you! why, the buck we are hunting! He must have passed close by here, and standing gaping as you do, you must have seen him. It was a fine stag of ten, was it not? Which way did he go? Speak up, you blackguard, or you shall have a taste of my stirrup-leather!” “The black plague take him, cub of a wolf!” muttered the shoe-maker to himself. Then, aloud, with a fine air of pretended simplicity, “Ah, yes!” he said, “I did see him.” “A buck, was it not? a ten-tiner, eh? with great horns.” “Ah, yes to be sure, a buck, with great horns,--or great corns, was it? yes, I saw him as plain as I see you, my Lord. But there, I can’t say if he had any corns, for I did not look at his feet, anyhow,” he added, with the air of a perfect simpleton, “if he had corns, they did not prevent him running.” At any other time the Baron would have laughed at what he might have taken for genuine stupidity; but the doublings of the animal were beginning to put him into a regular huntsman’s fever. “Now, then, you scoundrel, a truce to this jesting! If you are in a humour for jokes, it is more than I am!” “I will be in whatever humour it may please your Lordship I should be.” “Well, then, answer me.” “Your Lordship has asked me nothing as yet.” “Did the deer seem tired?” “Not very.” “Which way did he come?” “He did not come, he was standing still.” “Well, but he must have come from one side or the other.” “Ah! very likely, but I did not see him come.” “Which way did he go?” “I would tell you directly; only I did not see him go.” The Lord of Vez cast an angry look at Thibault. “Is it some while ago the buck passed this way, Master Simpleton?” “Not so very long, my Lord.” “About how long ago?” Thibault made as if trying to remember; at last he replied: “It was, I think, the day before yesterday,” but in saying this, the shoe-maker, unfortunately, could not suppress a grin. This grin did not escape the Baron, who, spurring his horse, rode down on Thibault with lifted whip. Thibault was agile, and with a single bound he reached the shelter of his lean-to, whither the wolf-hunter could not follow, as long as he remained mounted; Thibault was therefore in momentary safety. “You are only bantering and lying!” cried the huntsman, “for there is Marcassino, my best hound, giving cry not twenty yards off, and if the deer passed by where Marcassino is, he must have come over the hedge, and it is impossible, therefore, that you did not see him.” “Pardon, my Lord, but according to our good priest, no one but the Pope is infallible, and Monsieur Marcassino may be mistaken.” “Marcassino is never mistaken, do you hear, you rascal! and in proof of it I can see from here the marks where the animal scratched up the ground.” “Nevertheless, my Lord, I assure you, I swear....” said Thibault, who saw the Baron’s eyebrows contracting in a way that made him feel uneasy. “Silence, and come here, blackguard!” cried my lord.