WE left the ruins on the side opposite to that on which we had entered, Lucien going first.
As soon as we had got into the brushwood a pheasant once more loudly announced his presence.
He was about eighty paces from us, roosting in the branches of the chestnut tree, the approach to which was prevented on all sides by the undergrowth.
“I do not quite see how you are going to get him,” I said to Lucien; “it does not appear a very easy shot.”
“No,” he replied; “but if I could just see him, I would fire from here.”
“You do not mean to say that your gun will kill a pheasant at eighty yards?”
“Not with shot,” he replied; “it will with a bullet.”
“Ah! that is a different thing altogether. I did not know you were loaded with ball. You were right to undertake the shot.”
“Would you like to see the pheasant?” asked Orlandi.
“Yes,” said Lucien, “I confess that I should.”