e, past Javonne, past Les
Roses. _Sacristi!_ I thought, what if the gasoline gave out or the spark
refused to sparkle, what if they had----Why worry? That cheese was
strong enough to have gotten us anywhere.

Suddenly we slowed down, hastily consulted a blue iron sign at the
crossroad, and swung briskly to the right.

A noble forest and the roofs and _tourelles_ of the chateau now loomed
ahead of us. We turned into a clean, straight road, flanked by superb
oaks leading to an ancient stone gateway. A final wail from the siren,
the gates swung open, and we came to a dead stop in front of the Baron,
four setter dogs, and a group of gentlemen immaculately attired for the
hunt. From their tan-leather leggings to their yellow dogskin gloves and
gleaming guns, they were faultless.

While the Baron greeted us, his guests stood waiting to be presented;
their formal bow would have done credit to a foreign embassy during an
imperial audience. The next moment we were talking as naturally together
and with as much camaraderie as if we had known each other for years.

"Make yourselves at home, my children!" cried the Baron. "_Vous etes
chez vous_; the ladies have gone to Paris."

It was not such a very grand place, this estate of the Baron, after all.
It had an air about it of having seen better days, but the host was a
good fellow, and his welcome genuine, and we were all happy to be there.
No keepers in green fustians, no array of thoroughbred dogs, but instead
four plain setters with a touch of shepherd in them. The chateau itself
was plain and comfortable within and scarred by age without. Some of the
little towers had lost their tops, and the extensive wall enclosing the
snug forest bulged dangerously in places.

"You will see," explained the Baron to me in his fluent French, as our
little party sauntered out into the open fields to shoot, "I do not get
along very well with my farmer. I must tell you this in case he gives us
trouble to-day. He has the right, owing to a stupid lease my aged aunt
was unwise enough to sign with him some years ago, to exclude us from
hunting over many fields contiguous to my own; above all, we cannot put
foot in his harvest."

"I see," I returned, with a touch of disappointment, for I knew the
birds were where the harvest was still uncut.

"There are acres of grain going to seed beyond us which he would rather
lose than have me hunt over," the Baron confessed. "Bah! We shall see
what the _c