one day after breakfast, finishing our coffee, and making plans for the day, when suddenly we saw red spots and moving figures in the distance, on the hills opposite, across the canal.  Before we had time to get glasses and see what was happening, the children came rushing in to say the hunt was in the woods opposite, the horns sounding the hallali, and the stag probably in the canal.  With the glasses we made out the riders quite distinctly, and soon heard faint echoes of the horn.  We all made a rush for hats and coats, and started off to the canal.  We had to go down a steep, slippery path which was always muddy in all weathers, and across a rather rickety narrow plank, also very slippery.  As we got nearer, we heard the horns very well, and the dogs yelping.  By the time we got to the bridge, which was open to let a barge go through, everything had disappeared—­horses, dogs, followers, and not a sound of horn or hoof.  One solitary horseman only, who had evidently lost the hunt and didn’t know which way to go.  We lingered a little, much disgusted, but still hoping we might see something, when suddenly we heard again distant sounds of horns and yelping dogs.  The man on the other side waved his cap wildly, pointed to the woods, and started off full gallop.  In a few minutes the hill slope was alive with hunters coming up from all sides.  We were nearly mad with impatience, but couldn’t swim across the canal, the bridge was still open, the barge lumbering through.  The children with their Fraeulein and some of the party crossed a little lower down on a crazy little plank, which I certainly shouldn’t have dared attempt, and at last the bargeman took pity on us and put us across.  We raced along the bank as fast as we could, but the canal turns a great deal, and a bend prevented our seeing the stag, with the hounds at his heels, galloping down the slope and finally jumping into the canal, just where it widens out and makes a sort of lake between our hamlet of Bourneville and Marolles.  It was a pretty sight, all the hunters dismounted, walking along the edge of the water, sounding their hallali, the entire population of Bourneville and Marolles and all our household arriving in hot haste, and groups of led horses and valets de chiens in their green coats half-way up the slope.  The stag, a very fine one, was swimming round and round, every now and then making an effort to get up the bank, and falling back heavily—­he was nearly done, half his body sinking in the water, and his great eyes looking around to see if any one would help him.  I went back to the barge (they had stayed, too, to see the sight), and the woman, a nice, clean, motherly body with two babies clinging to her, was much excited over the cruelty of the thing.

[Illustration:  I suggested that the whole chasse should adjourn to the chateau.]