Choron was the last to arrive on the scene, for he had not hurried himself in the least.
Directly he appeared out of the forest, with his bloodhound on leash, we saw him fix his astonished gaze on the group, with Niquet in the centre. When we saw Choron, we scattered so that he might see what we had seen without believing.
"What the deuce is this they are saying, Bobino?" he cried, when near enough to be heard; "they tell me that the boar has been idiot enough to throw himself in front of your gun!"
"Whether he threw himself in front of my gun or my gun put a shot into him, it is none the less a fact that poor Bobino is going to have fine steaks throughout the winter, and he isn't going to invite anyone to share them who can't return the compliment—saving, of course, M. l'inspecteur," Bobino added, raising his cap, "who will make his very humble servant proud indeed if he will ever condescend to taste Mother Bobine's cooking."
Niquet always called his wife Bobine, which, according to his idea, was the natural feminine for Bobino.
"Thanks, Niquet, thanks; I will not refuse that offer," M. Deviolaine replied.
"S'help me, Bobino!" said one of the keepers, named François, who was brother to Léon Mas, M. Deviolaine's servant, whom I have had occasion to mention several times already—"as such strokes of luck do not often happen to you, with M. Deviolaine's permission I must decorate you!"
"Decorate away, my boy," said Bobino. "There's many a one been decorated in other times who did not deserve it as much as I do."
Bobino was unjust: in other times decorations were not too lavishly bestowed: but hatred blinded him. Bobino, who had been a Terrorist in 1793, was a red-hot Royalist in 1815, sharing, in this respect, the opinions of his beloved of the rue de Soissons.
And Bobino went on smoking with the most ludicrous imperturbability, whilst François, drawing a knife out of his pocket, approached the back of the boar, took hold of its tail, and cut it off at a single stroke.