our dog!" I exclaimed, "I tell you the hare is mine."

"My dog never told a lie," rejoined the _braconnier_, and he dipped the
remnant of his turnip for the twentieth time in the salt. "Never."

"Then _I_ am the liar," said I, beginning to feel hot, "I am the liar,
ah! am I? By Jupiter! your dog, you bearded fool--your cur of a dog? I
do not care a _sous_ for his carcass any more than I do for yours. I'll
have my hare."

"Don't get excited, young man--don't be savage, I beg of you; for, as
sure as I am a sinner, you'll have a crop of pimples on your nose
to-morrow,--and red pimples on the nose are not pretty."

"Keep your jokes to yourself, old man, or on my honour you shall repent
it!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" grinned the Pere Seguin, "Ha! ha! ha! capital turnip."

"Houp! houp! houp!" went the dog.

I was bewildered; such a strange adventure had never befallen me before.

"Once, twice--will you give me my hare?"

"Have I any hare of yours?"

"You? No, but your dog."

"Ha! that's another affair. You must settle that with him. Take your
hare, and let me eat my turnip in peace."

Enraged at this, I rushed at the carroty dog, but he was off in an
instant, jumping first behind the tree, and then behind his master,
keeping my hare all the time fast in his mouth till I was fairly out of
breath, and aggravated beyond expression.

I looked towards the poacher. He was quietly plucking the top off a
fresh turnip, but under the air of icy indifference which pervaded his
whole exterior I detected a sarcastic smile, which fully convinced me
that I was the laughing-stock of man and beast. I took my resolution,
and Pere Seguin, who had followed my movements with his eye, said drily,
as I was going to put a cap on, "What are you going to do young man?"

"Oh, nothing! just to kill your dog for taking my hare."

"Bah! you're joking."

"Joking! am I? You shall see;" and I proceeded quietly to raise my gun.

"Gently, my lad," roared the Pere Seguin, and he seized the weapon in
his iron grasp.

"I may be but a 'lad,' but I'll not give up my rights; the hare is mine,
and I'll have her. Let go my gun!"

"No!"

"By----"

"No!"

"Then look out for yourself," said I, and with a rapid movement I
attempted to draw my _couteau de chasse_; but long before I could get
it out, he had seized me with both hands, and in a twinkling I measured
my length upon the turf, and the knife was in his possession.

"Child of violence!" he said,