"Can he not hunt any more now?"
"Oh, yes! we were out shooting yesterday in the marshes of Coyolle, and he killed seventeen out of the nineteen snipe we shot."
"How clever of him! I suspect Bobino would not have hit so many with the use of both his hands? That reminds me—what has become of him?"
"Bobino?"
"Yes."
"He has made a whistle out of the boar's tail to call his dogs, and he declares he will never rest, in this world or in the other, until he has laid hands on the remaining portion of the animal."
"Then everyone is all right with the exception of poor Choron?"
"That is so."
"You say the rendezvous is at ...?"
"Six o'clock prompt to-morrow morning, at the end of the big avenue, to enable everybody to reach la Maison-Neuve by seven o'clock."