boar's belly
up to the hilt, and Sir John fired at him twice. Quick, quick! Send the
men for the carcass. Don't be frightened when you see Roland. He's all
covered with blood--but it's from the boar, and he hasn't a scratch."

This was delivered with Edouard's accustomed volubility while Madame de
Montrevel was crossing the clearing between the portico and the road to
open the gate. She intended to take Edouard in her arms, but he jumped
from his saddle and flung himself upon her neck. Roland and Sir John
came up just then, and Amelie appeared on the portico at the same
instant.

Edouard left his mother to worry over Roland, who, covered as he was
with blood, looked very terrifying, and rushed to his sister with the
tale he had rattled off to his mother. Amelie listened in an abstracted
manner that probably hurt Edouard's vanity, for he dashed off to the
kitchen to describe the affair to Michel, who was certain to listen to
him.

Michel was indeed interested; but when, after telling him where the
carcass lay, Edouard gave him Roland's order to send a couple of men
after the beast, he shook his head.

"What!" demanded Edouard, "are you going to refuse to obey my brother?"

"Heaven forbid! Master Edouard. Jacques shall start this instant for
Montagnac."

"Are you afraid he won't find any body?"

"Goodness, no; he could get a dozen. But the trouble is the time of
night. You say the boar lies close to the pavilion of the Chartreuse?"

"Not twenty yards from it."

"I'd rather it was three miles," replied Michel scratching his head;
"but never mind. I'll send for them anyway without telling them what
they're wanted for. Once here, it's for your brother to make them go."

"Good! Good! Only get them here and I'll see to that myself."

"Oh!" exclaimed Michel, "if I hadn't this beastly sprain I'd go myself.
But to-day's doings have made it worse. Jacques! Jacques!"

Jacques came, and Edouard not only waited to hear the order given, but
until he had started. Then he ran upstairs to do what Roland and Sir
John were already doing, that is, dress for dinner.

The whole talk at table, as may be easily imagined, centred upon the
day's prowess. Edouard asked nothing better than to talk about it, and
Sir John, astounded by Roland's skill, courage, and good luck, improved
upon the child's narrative. Madame de Montrevel shuddered at each
detail, and yet she made them repeat it twenty times. That which seemed
most clear to