Catherine, by an adroit manœuvre, leads the waiting Bruno to one side and smilingly makes him a sign. He throws himself upon Firmin and besmears his face with berry juice. Firmin’s surprise quickly curdles into anger. Like a giant he resents the treatment, but it is quite unnecessary for him to give poor Bruno such a resistless blow. Advancing to interpose hasten Rosalie, Félicité, Suzanne, Justine, Nicholas, Mathieu, Constant, and others. Firmin has not time to give a second blow. He strikes out only once, but that is quite sufficient. Catherine briefly explains the nature of the game. During her explanation the jeering Andoche regards her insolently, and when she has finished he observes: “It is not a proper or neat game for Sunday, when one is quite clean and fresh.” “And now,” continues Catherine, coolly, paying no heed to the sneer of Andoche, “it is your turn to run after some one, and decorate her face if you catch her.” “I will, then, run after you,” declares this young Antinous, rather stupidly. “How foolish!” exclaims the disagreeable Andoche. “If you expect to catch Madame Catherine, you will have to double your speed.” Firmin does not notice the evil slur in the old man’s suggestion. As soon as he dashes forth, all seek to evade him. Catherine, blushing a little in spite of herself, leaves the open glade and gains the forest. In two or three long strides Firmin might overtake her, but she is too quick for him, because she darts first to the right and then to the left so skilfully that the great fellow, each time going as straight as an arrow, overleaps her by several feet and so loses her, much to the amusement of the others. “What a goose!” grumbles that beast of an Andoche. “She will lead as far as you care to follow her.” Though the beautiful Catherine is evidently fatigued, Firmin cannot catch her. Now she disappears from view behind the raspberry hedges, some minutes perhaps elapsing before she and her pursuer are again seen. Sometimes the gamekeeper’s wife reappears with a little grimace on her face, for the game begins to pall. The cries of enthusiasm cease. But Catherine remains indefatigable. Old Andoche continues to jeer, and finally in his garrulous, cynical voice cries: “How interesting it would be should Monsieur Barrau happen to pass this way! He might not be altogether pleased at the sight.” Scarcely has Andoche finished speaking when through the trees they see the gleam of a musket. The branches are pushed aside, and a man clad in velvet, with long gaiters extending from his knees, makes his appearance, followed by a dog which as he bounds to and fro barks joyously. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER II. THE ALTERCATION.