; "mademoiselle looks as if she were going
to faint."

"I? Not at all," exclaimed Amelie, wiping the perspiration from her
forehead; "only don't you think it seems a little warm here, mother?"

"No," answered Madame de Montrevel.

"Still," insisted Amelie, "if it would not annoy you, I should like to
open the window."

"Do so, my child."

Amelie rose hastily to profit by this permission, and went with
tottering steps to a window opening upon the garden. After it was
opened, she stood leaning against the sill, half-hidden by the curtains.

"Ah!" she said, "I can breathe here."

Sir John rose to offer her his smelling-salts, but Amelie declined
hastily: "No, no, my lord. Thank you, but I am better now."

"Come, come," said Roland, "don't bother about that; it's our boar."

"Well, Monsieur Louis, we will fetch your boar tomorrow."

"That's it," said the second peasant, "to-morrow morning, when it's
light."

"But to go there at night--"

"Oh! to go there at night--"

The peasant looked at his comrade and both shook their heads.

"It can't be done at night."

"Cowards."

"Monsieur Louis, a man's not a coward because he's afraid."

"No, indeed; that's not being a coward," replied the other.

"Ah!" said Roland, "I wish some stronger minded men than you would face
me with that argument; that a man is not a coward because he's afraid!"

"Well, it's according to what he's afraid of, Monsieur Louis. Give me a
good sickle and a good cudgel, and I'm not afraid of a wolf; give me a
good gun and I'm not afraid of any man, even if I knew he's waiting to
murder me."

"Yes," said Edouard, "but you're afraid of a ghost, even when it's only
the ghost of a monk."

"Little Master Edouard," said the peasant, "leave your brother to do the
talking; you're not old enough to jest about such things--"

"No," added the other peasant, "wait till your beard is grown, my little
gentleman."

"I haven't any beard," retorted Edouard, starting up, "but just the same
if I was strong enough to carry the boar, I'd go fetch it myself either
by day or night."

"Much good may it do you, my young gentleman. But neither my comrade nor
myself would go, even for a whole louis."

"Nor for two?" said Roland, wishing to corner them.

"Nor for two, nor four, nor ten, Monsieur de Montrevel. Ten louis are
good, but what could I do with them if my neck was broken?"

"Yes, twisted like Pierre Marey's," said the other peasant.

"Ten loui