"Forward then, my respectable privy councillor," replied Colonel
Philippe, whistling to the dogs, who seemed more willing to obey him
than the public functionary to whom they belonged.
"Are you aware, marquis," said the jeering soldier, "that we still
have six miles to go? That village over there must be Baillet."
"Good heavens!" cried the marquis, "go to Cassan if you must, but
you'll go alone. I prefer to stay here, in spite of the coming storm,
and wait for the horse you can send me from the chateau. You've played
me a trick, Sucy. We were to have had a nice little hunt not far from
Cassan, and beaten the coverts I know. Instead of that, you have kept
me running like a hare since four o'clock this morning, and all I've
had for breakfast is a cup of milk. Now, if you ever have a petition
before the Court, I'll make you lose it, however just your claim."
The poor discouraged huntsman sat down on a stone that supported the
signpost, relieved himself of his gun and his gamebag, and heaved a
long sigh.
"France! such are thy deputies!" exclaimed Colonel de Sucy, laughing.
"Ah! my poor d'Albon, if you had been like me six years in the wilds
of Siberia--"
He said no more, but he raised his eyes to heaven as if that anguish
were between himself and God.
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