xpression of his face.

"In my young days we had lots of otters," whispered the old fellow; "but
they've hunted 'em so that if we see the tail of one in seven
years it is as much as ever we do. And the sub-prefect at
Ville-aux-Fayes,--doesn't monsieur know him? though he be a Parisian,
he's a fine young man like you, and he loves curiosities,--so, as I was
saying, hearing of my talent for catching otters, for I know 'em as you
know your alphabet, he says to me like this: 'Pere Fourchon,' says he,
'when you find an otter bring it to me, and I'll pay you well; and if
it's spotted white on the back,' says he, 'I'll give you thirty francs.'
That's just what he did say to me as true as I believe in God the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. And there's a learned man at Soulanges,
Monsieur Gourdon, our doctor, who is making, so they tell me, a
collection of natural history which hasn't its mate at Dijon even;
indeed he is first among the learned men in these parts, and he'll pay
me a fine price, too; he stuffs men and beasts. Now my boy there stands
me out that that otter has got the white spots. 'If that's so,' says I
to him, 'then the good God wishes well to us this morning!' Ha! didn't
you see the water bubble? yes, there it is! there it is! Though it lives
in a kind of a burrow, it sometimes stays whole days under water. Ha,
there! it heard you, my good gentleman; it's on its guard now; for
there's not a more suspicious animal on earth; it's worse than a woman."

"So you call women suspicious, do you?" said Blondet.

"Faith, monsieur, if you come from Paris you ought to know about that
better than I. But you'd have done better for me if you had stayed
in your bed and slept all the morning; don't you see that wake there?
that's where she's gone under. Get up, Mouche! the otter heard monsieur
talking, and now she's scary enough to keep us at her heels till
midnight. Come, let's be off! and good-bye to our thirty francs!"

Mouche got up reluctantly; he looked at the spot where the water
bubbled, pointed to it with his finger and seemed unable to give up all
hope. The child, with curly hair and a brown face, like the angels in
a fifteenth-century picture, seemed to be in breeches, for his trousers
ended at the knee in a ragged fringe of brambles and dead leaves. This
necessary garment was fastened upon him by cords of tarred oakum in
guise of braces. A shirt of the same burlap which made the old man's
trousers, thickened, howeve