Now on this, the first morning of our stay in Huferschingen, all the population had turned out at an early hour to see us start for the forest; and as the Ober-Forster had gone away to visit his parents in Bavaria, Dr. Krumm was appointed to superintend the operations of the day.  And when everybody was busy renewing acquaintance with us, gathering the straying dogs, examining guns and cartridge-belts, and generally aiding in the profound commotion of our setting out, Dr. Krumm was found to be talking in a very friendly and familiar manner with our pretty Franziska.  Charlie eyed them askance.  He began to say disrespectful things of Krumm:  he thought Krumm a plain person.  And then, when the bandy-legged doctor had got all the dogs, keepers, and beaters together, we set off along the road, and presently plunged into the cool shade of the forest, where the thick moss suddenly silenced our footsteps, and where there was a moist and resinous smell in the air.

Well, the incidents of the forenoon’s shooting, picturesque as they were, and full of novelty to Tita’s protege, need not be described.  At the end of the fourth drive, when we had got on nearly to luncheon-time, it appeared that Charlie had killed a handsome buck, and he was so pleased with this performance that he grew friendly with Dr. Krumm, who had, indeed, given him the haupt-stelle.  But when, as we sat down to our sausages and bread and red wine, Charlie incidentally informed our commander-in-chief that, during one of the drives, a splendid yellow fox had come out of the underwood and stood and stared at him for three or four seconds, the doctor uttered a cry of despair.

“I should have told you that,” he said, in English that was not quite so good as Ziska’s, “if I had remembered, yes!  The English will not shoot the foxes; but they are very bad for us; they kill the young deer.  We are glad to shoot them; and Franziska she told me she wanted a yellow fox for the skin to make something.”

Charlie got very red in the face.  He had missed a chance.  If he had known that Franziska wanted a yellow fox, all the instinctive veneration for that animal that was in him would have gone clean out, and the fate of the animal—­for Charlie was a smart shot—­would have been definitely sealed.

“Are there many of them?” said he, gloomily.

“No; not many.  But where there is one there are generally four or five.  In the next drive we may come on them, yes!  I will put you in a good place, sir, and you must not think of letting him go away; for Franziska, who has waited two, three weeks, and not one yellow fox not anywhere, and it is for the variety of the skin in a—­a—­I do not know what you call it.”

“A rug, I suppose,” said Charlie.