As he said these words the Baron leaped over a broad ditch, which divided the road from the clearing which the hunters had already entered.

“What do you say to that?” murmured the artist, in a rather dramatic tone, in his friend’s ear.

Instead of replying, the lover made a gesture which signified, according to all appearance:  “I do not care.”

The clearing they must cross in order to reach the woods formed a large, square field upon an inclined plane which sloped to the river side.  Just as Marillac in his turn was jumping the ditch, his friend saw, at the extremity of the clearing, Madame de Bergenheim walking slowly in the avenue of sycamores.  A moment later, she had disappeared behind a mass of trees without the other men noticing her.

“Take care that you do not slip,” said the artist, “the ground is wet.”

This warning brought misfortune to Gerfaut, who in jumping caught his foot in the root of a tree and fell.

“Are you hurt?” asked Bergenheim.

Octave arose and tried to walk, but was obliged to lean upon his gun.

“I think I have twisted my foot,” said he, and he carried his hand to it as if he felt a sharp pain there.

“The devil! it may be a sprain,” observed the Baron, coming toward them; “sit down.  Do you think you will be able to walk?”

“Yes, but I fear hunting would be too much for me; I will return to the house.”

“Do you wish us to make a litter and carry you?”

“You are laughing at me; it’s not so bad as that.  I will walk back slowly, and will take a foot-bath in my room.”

“Lean upon me, then, and I will help you,” said the artist, offering his arm.

“Thanks; I do not need you,” Octave replied; “go to the devil!” he continued, in an expressive aside.

“Capisco!” Marillac replied, in the same tone, giving his arm an expressive pressure.  “Excuse me,” said he aloud, “I am not willing that you should go alone.  I will be your Antigone—­

     Antigone me reste, Antigone est and fille.

“Bergenheim, I will take charge of him.  Go on with your hunting, the gentlemen are waiting for you.  We will meet again at supper; around the table; legs are articles of luxury and sprains a delusion, provided that the throat and stomach are properly treated.”

The Baron looked first at his guests, then at the group that had just reached the top of the clearing.  For an instant Christian charity struggled against love of hunting, then the latter triumphed.  As he saw that Octave, although limping slightly, was already in a condition to walk, especially with the aid of his friend’s arm, he said: 

“Do not forget to put your foot in water, and send for Rousselet; he understands all about sprains.”

This advice having eased his conscience, he joined his companions, while the two friends slowly took the road back to the chateau, Octave resting one hand upon the artist’s arm and the other upon his gun.