he
virtue of women."

"That is all very well, but in case of misfortune what would you do?"

"I think I should say with Lanoue: 'Sensation is for the fop, complaints
for the fool, an honest man who is deceived goes away and says
nothing.'"

"I partly agree with Lanoue; only I should make a little
variation--instead of goes away should say avenges himself."

Marillac threw at his friend a second glance full of meaning.

"Per Bacco!" said he, "are you a Venetian or a Castilian husband?"

"Eh!" replied Bergenheim, "I suppose that without being either, I should
kill my wife, the other man, and then myself, without even crying,
'Beware!' Here! Brichou! pay attention; Tambeau is separated from the
rest."

As he said these words the Baron leaped over a broad ditch, which
divided the road from the clearing which the hunters had already
entered.

"What do you say to that?" murmured the artist, in a rather dramatic
tone, in his friend's ear.

Instead of replying, the lover made a gesture which signified, according
to all appearance: "I do not care."

The clearing they must cross in order to reach the woods formed a large,
square field upon an inclined plane which sloped to the river side. Just
as Marillac in his turn was jumping the ditch, his friend saw, at the
extremity of the clearing, Madame de Bergenheim walking slowly in the
avenue of sycamores. A moment later, she had disappeared behind a mass
of trees without the other men noticing her.

"Take care that you do not slip," said the artist, "the ground is wet."

This warning brought misfortune to Gerfaut, who in jumping caught his
foot in the root of a tree and fell.

"Are you hurt?" asked Bergenheim.

Octave arose and tried to walk, but was obliged to lean upon his gun.

"I think I have twisted my foot," said he, and he carried his hand to it
as if he felt a sharp pain there.

"The devil! it may be a sprain," observed the Baron, coming toward them;
"sit down. Do you think you will be able to walk?"

"Yes, but I fear hunting would be too much for me; I will return to the
house."

"Do you wish us to make a litter and carry you?"

"You are laughing at me; it's not so bad as that. I will walk back
slowly, and will take a foot-bath in my room."

"Lean upon me, then, and I will help you," said the artist, offering his
arm.

"Thanks; I do not need you," Octave replied; "go to the devil!" he
continued, in an expressive aside.

"Capisco!" Marillac repli