nst nature herself, an unreasoning indignation against this
brutal, infarious act of destruction.

"I looked at her, bewildered. Then I took her hand in mine, and tears
came to my eyes. I wept for her lost youth. For I did not know this fat
lady.

"She was also excited, and stammered:

"'I am greatly changed, am I not? What can you expect--everything
has its time! You see, I have become a mother, nothing but a good mother.
Farewell to the rest, that is over. Oh! I never expected you to recognize
me if we met. You, too, have changed. It took me quite a while to be sure
that I was not mistaken. Your hair is all white. Just think! Twelve years
ago! Twelve years! My oldest girl is already ten.'

"I looked at the child. And I recognized in her something of her mother's
old charm, but something as yet unformed, something which promised for
the future. And life seemed to me as swift as a passing train.

"We had reached. Maisons-Laffitte. I kissed my old friend's hand. I had
found nothing utter but the most commonplace remarks. I was too much
upset to talk.

"At night, alone, at home, I stood in front of the mirror for a long
time, a very long time. And I finally remembered what I had been, finally
saw in my mind's eye my brown mustache, my black hair and the youthful
expression of my face. Now I was old. Farewell!"

THE WOLF

This is what the old Marquis d'Arville told us after St. Hubert's dinner
at the house of the Baron des Ravels.

We had killed a stag that day. The marquis was the only one of the guests
who had not taken part in this chase. He never hunted.

During that long repast we had talked about hardly anything but the
slaughter of animals. The ladies themselves were interested in bloody and
exaggerated tales, and the orators imitated the attacks and the combats
of men against beasts, raised their arms, romanced in a thundering voice.

M. d Arville talked well, in a certain flowery, high-sounding, but
effective style. He must have told this story frequently, for he told it
fluently, never hesitating for words, choosing them with skill to make
his description vivid.

Gentlemen, I have never hunted, neither did my father, nor my
grandfather, nor my great-grandfather. This last was the son of a man who
hunted more than all of you put together. He died in 1764. I will tell
you the story of his death.

His name was Jean. He was married, father of that child who became my
great-grandfather, and he li