erot'
was already in the courtyard with his two hounds, Charbonneau and
Montagnard, who were leaping and barking sonorously around him. Julien,
reminded of his promise by the unusual early uproar, dressed himself
with a bad grace, and went down to join Claudet, who was bristling with
impatience. They started. There had been a sharp frost during the night;
some hail had fallen, and the roads were thinly coated with a white
dust, called by the country people, in their picturesque language, "a
sugarfrost" of snow. A thick fog hung over the forest, so that they had
to guess their way; but Claudet knew every turn and every sidepath,
and thus he and his companion arrived by the most direct line at the
rendezvous. They soon began to hear the barking of the dogs, to which
Montagnard and Charbonneau replied with emulative alacrity, and
finally, through the mist, they distinguished the group of huntsmen from
Auberive.

The Belle-Etoile was a circular spot, surrounded by ancient ash-trees,
and formed the central point for six diverging alleys which stretched
out indefinitely into the forest. The monks of Auberive, at the epoch
when they were the lords and owners of the land, had made this place
a rendezvous for huntsmen, and had provided a table and some stone
benches, which, thirty years ago, were still in existence. The
enclosure, which had been chosen for the breakfast on the present
occasion, was irradiated by a huge log-fire; a very respectable display
of bottles, bread, and various eatables covered the stone table, and the
dogs, attached by couples to posts, pulled at their leashes and barked
in chorus, while their masters, grouped around the fire, warmed their
benumbed fingers over the flames, and tapped their heels while waiting
for the last-comers.

At sight of Julien and Claudet, there was a joyous hurrah of welcome.
Justice Destourbet exchanged a ceremonious hand-shake with the new
proprietor of the chateau. The scant costume and tight gaiters of the
huntsman's attire, displayed more than ever the height and slimness of
the country magistrate. By his side, the registrar Seurrot, his legs
encased in blue linen spatterdashes, his back bent, his hands crossed
comfortably over his "corporation," sat roasting himself at the flame,
while grumbling when the wind blew the smoke in his eyes. Arbillot, the
notary, as agile and restless as a lizard, kept going from one to the
other with an air of mysterious importance. He came u