Then, with a wild shriek, the whole troop fled into the forest.

This was too much for poor, half-petrified pink-face with the twisted tail.  Seeing that its comrades were gone in earnest, it became desperate, flung itself frantically into the air with an agonising squeak, missed its mark, went crashing through the slender branches and fell to the ground.

Fortunately these branches broke its fall so that it arose unhurt, bounded into a bush, still squeaking with alarm, and made after its friends.

“Why did you not shoot it, professor?” asked Nigel, laughing as much at Verkimier’s grave expression as at the little monkey’s behaviour.

“Vy did I not shot it?” echoed the professor.  “I vould as soon shot a baby.  Zee pluck of zat leetle creature is admirable.  It vould be a horrible shame to take his life.  No!  I do love to see ploock vezer in man or beast!  He could not shoomp zat.  He knew he could not shoomp it, but he tried to shoomp it.  He vould not be beat, an’ I vould not kill him—­zough I vant ’im very mooch for a specimen.”

It seemed as if the professor was to be specially rewarded for his generous self-denial on this occasion, for while he was yet speaking, a soft “hush!” from Van der Kemp caused the whole party to halt in dead silence and look at the hermit inquiringly.

“You are in luck, professor,” he murmured, in a soft, low voice—­very different from that hissing whisper which so many people seem to imagine is an inaudible utterance.  “I see a splendid Argus pheasant over there making himself agreeable to his wife!”

“Vare? oh! vare?” exclaimed the enthusiast with blazing eyes, for although he had already seen and procured specimens of this most beautiful creature, he had not yet seen it engage in the strange love-dance—­if we may so call it—­which is peculiar to the bird.

“You’ll never get near enough to see it if you hiss like a serpent,” said the hermit.  “Get out your binoculars, follow me, and hold your tongue, all of you—­that will be the safest plan.  Tread lightly.”

It was a sight to behold the professor crouching almost double in order to render himself less conspicuous, with his hat pushed back, and the blue glasses giving him the appearance of a great-eyed seal.  He carried his butterfly-net in one hand, and the unfailing rifle in the other.

Fortunately the hermit’s sharp and practised eye had enabled him to distinguish the birds in the distance before their advance had alarmed them, so that they were able to reach a mound topped with low bushes over which they could easily watch the birds.

“Zat is very koorious an’ most interesting,” murmured the professor after a short silence.

He was right.  There were two Argus pheasants, a male and female—­the male alone being decorated superbly.  The Argus belongs to the same family as the peacock, but is not so gaudy in colouring, and therefore, perhaps, somewhat more pleasing.  Its tail is formed chiefly by an enormous elongation of the two tail quills, and of the secondary wing feathers, no two of which are exactly the same, and the closer they are examined the greater is seen to be the extreme beauty of their markings, and the rich varied harmony of their colouring.