The game continues for perhaps an hour, and more than one pretty face is smeared with the bright red juice. If a kiss is taken now and then, who complains of that? Surely not the lovely Catherine, who, though married to the gamekeeper, is not averse to a friendly caress. In truth, it is oftenest after her that the young men give chase--she is so gay, so bright, so little scandalized by the familiarities of her young adorers. Presently her turn comes to play the pursuer’s _rôle_. She selects Bruno as her victim. Graceful, Diana-like in form, and charming in her abandon, she bounds through the bushes. In the background of this living picture stand the great trees--chiefly beeches and oaks--as erect as proud sentinels, their wide-spread branches forming a grateful shade where the peasants are sitting in sociable groups. In the clearing, just in front of the older people, who are watching with enjoyment the sport of the younger ones, is a dense mass of raspberry bushes that are fairly loaded down with ripe fruit. Never before have raspberries been so abundant in this locality. Under a tree are ranged all sizes and kinds of baskets. Soon in the hot July sunshine old and young will begin to gather this wild crop, which may be had for the picking. Some have come solely for the purpose of improving each shining hour of this Sunday morning in obtaining as much of the fruit as possible. Others think a little diversion is not out of order on such an occasion. And so the impromptu game proposed by the vivacious wife of the gamekeeper has been eagerly approved by a dozen or more participants. Bruno now runs breathlessly after Catherine, but she is too fleet of foot to be caught. Animated and happy, the gamekeeper’s wife is wholly absorbed in the sport, and triumphs because she is able to distance her pursuer. At length, a towering, broad-shouldered fellow, with a confident air, is seen coming along the footpath. By his side walks a queer little being, with uneven steps, misshapen body, short, twisted legs, and enormous arms. Both stop to watch the game--the first like a man who cannot be induced to enter into any such frivolous pastime; the other like a man incapable of doing so by reason of his poor physique. “Good-morning, Andoche,” salutes Catherine as she passes the deformed little man, who smiles with a wry, disagreeable face. “Good-morning, Madame Catherine,” he returns, with a look of malice in his eyes. Then turning to the other he remarks, “You will see how she will manage to invite you to join in.” Bruno, running at a swift pace, passes before the newcomers. The young woman, making a sudden _detour_, again approaches them, and asks in a voice of admirable nonchalance: “Would you not like to play for a while, Monsieur Firmin?” “Ah, what did I tell you?” exclaims Andoche, bursting into laughter. “Will you be one of us?” continues the young woman. “I do not know the game, but I will play,” responds Firmin.