with the same
amazement that he had experienced after the first.

The dogs--those that were left, some twenty in all--had followed the
boar, and were now leaping upon his body in the vain effort to tear the
bristles, which were almost as impenetrable as iron.

"You will see," said Roland, wiping the blood from his face and hands
with a fine cambric handkerchief, "how they will eat him, and your knife
too, my lord."

"True," said Sir John; "where is the knife?"

"In its sheath," replied Roland.

"Ah!" exclaimed the boy, "only the handle shows."

He sprang toward the animal and pulled out the poniard, which, as he
said, was buried up to the hilt. The sharp point, guided by a calm eye
and a firm hand, had pierced the animal's heart.

There were other wounds on the boar's body. The first, caused by the
boy's shot, showed a bloody furrow just over the eye; the blow had been
too weak to crush the frontal bone. The second came from Sir John's
first shot; it had caught the animal diagonally and grazed his breast.
The third, fired at close quarters, went through the body; but, as
Roland had said, not until after the animal was dead.

CHAPTER XIV. AN UNPLEASANT COMMISSION

The hunt was over, darkness was falling, and it was now a question of
returning to the chateau. The horses were nearby; they could hear them
neighing impatiently. They seemed to be asking if their courage was so
doubted that they were not allowed to share in the exciting drama.

Edouard was bent upon dragging the boar after them, fastening it to the
saddle-bow, and so carrying it back to the chateau; but Roland pointed
out that it was simpler to send a couple of men for it with a barrow.
Sir John being of the same opinion, Edouard--who never ceased pointing
to the wound in the head, and saying, "That's my shot; that's where I
aimed"--Edouard, we say, was forced to yield to the majority. The three
hunters soon reached the spot where their horses were tethered, mounted,
and in less than ten minutes were at the Chateau des Noires-Fontaines.

Madame de Montrevel was watching for them on the portico. The poor
mother had waited there nearly an hour, trembling lest an accident had
befallen one or the other of her sons. The moment Edouard espied her he
put his pony to a gallop, shouting from the gate: "Mother, mother! We
killed a boar as big as a donkey. I shot him in the head; you'll see the
hole my ball, made; Roland stuck his hunting knife into the