We must just add that Choron worshipped his wife, and grew more and more jealous on her account every day, without cause. His mates would sometimes twit him about this increasing jealousy, but their harmless merriment was short-lived: Choron would turn as white as death, he would shake his fine head, and, turning towards the person who had rashly touched upon the heart-sore that was beyond the cure of his dogs' tongues, he would say:—
"Stop, you—you had better hold your tongue; and that right quickly;—the sooner you stop the better it will be for you!"
The ill-advised joker would stop immediately. Folks gradually ceased to venture upon any allusion to this strong fellow's only weakness, and in a very short time it bid fair never to be mentioned at all.
[CHAPTER II]
Choron and the mad dog—Niquet, otherwise called Bobino—His mistress—The boar-hunt—The kill—Bobino's triumph—He is decorated—The boar which he had killed rises again.
We have now introduced our new actors. The Thursday had come; and it was half-past eight in the morning when we filed out—M. Deviolaine, my brother-in-law, myself, and a dozen keepers, gathered up from the town and recruited on our way—at the turning of the forest road, about four hundred steps from Maison-Neuve.
Choron was, as usual, on his doorstep, horn in hand; directly he caught sight of us, he blew a most sonorous blast, and we knew there were no doubts about our hunt taking place.