en cut down,
or even lopped, a spot near it that was rich in truffles year after
year is soon scoffed at by the knowing pig.

Our work lies amongst the dwarf oaks, for there are no hazels here. At
a sign from the old man, the pig sniffs about the roots of a little
tree, then proceeds to dig with her nose, tossing up the larger stones
which lie in the way as if they were feathers. The animal has smelt a
truffle, and the man seizes her by the ear, for her manner is
suspicious. This is the first time they have been out together since
last season, and the beast has forgotten some of her education. She
manages to get a truffle into her mouth; he tugs at her ear with one
hand, and uses his stick upon her nose with the other. The brute
screams with anger, but will not open her jaws wide enough for him to
slip his stick in and hook the truffle out. The prize is swallowed,
and the old man, forgetting all decorum, and only thinking of his
loss, calls his companion a pig, which in France is always an insult.
Our truffle-hunting to-day has opened badly, although one party thinks
differently. In a few minutes, however, another truffle is found, and
this time the old man delivers a whack on the nose at the right
moment, and, seizing the fungus, hands it to me. Now he takes from his
pocket a spike of maize, and, picking off a few grains, gives them to
the pig to soothe her injured feelings, and encourage her to hunt
again. This she is quite ready to do, for a pig has no _amour propre_.
We move about in the dry open wood, keeping always near the trees, and
truffle after truffle is turned up from the reddish light soil mixed
with fragments of calcareous rock. The forgotten training soon comes
back to our invaluable auxiliary; a mere twitch of the ear is a
sufficient hint for her to retire at the right moment, and wait for
the corn that is in variably given in exchange for the cryptogam.
Indeed, before we leave the ground, the animal has got so well into
work that when she finds a truffle she does not attempt to seize it,
but points to it, and grunts for the equivalent in maize. The pig may
be a correct emblem of depravity, but its intelligence is certainly of
a superior order.

FROM THE ALZOU TO THE DORDOGNE.

Although the last days of May had come, the Alzou, usually dry at this
time, was running with swift, strong current through the vale of
Roc-Amadour. There had been so many thunderstorms that the channel was
not large e