“Handsome!” cried the pie; “oh, if you could have seen the father!—such a mouth, such eyes, such a complexion; and he declares she’s the living picture of himself! But what do you say, Mr. Reynard,—you, who have been so much in the world, have, perhaps, seen the young lady?”
“Why, I can’t say I have,” answered the fox, waking from a revery; “but she must be wonderfully rich. I dare say that fool the dog will be making up to her.”
“Ah, by the way,” said the pie, “what a fuss he made at your door yesterday; why would you not admit him, my dear?”
“Oh,” said the cat, demurely, “Mr. Reynard says that he is a dog of very bad character, quite a fortune-hunter; and hiding the most dangerous disposition to bite under an appearance of good nature. I hope he won’t be quarrelsome with you, dear Reynard!”
“With me? Oh, the poor wretch, no!—he might bluster a little; but he knows that if I’m once angry I’m a devil at biting;—one should not boast of oneself.”
In the evening Reynard felt a strange desire to go and see the griffin smoking his pipe; but what could he do? There was the dog under the opposite tree evidently watching for him, and Reynard had no wish to prove himself that devil at biting which he declared he was. At last he resolved to have recourse to stratagem to get rid of the dog.
A young buck of a rabbit, a sort of provincial fop, had looked in upon his cousin the cat, to pay her his respects, and Reynard, taking him aside, said, “You see that shabby-looking dog under the tree? He has behaved very ill to your cousin the cat, and you certainly ought to challenge him. Forgive my boldness, nothing but respect for your character induces me to take so great a liberty; you know I would chastise the rascal myself, but what a scandal it would make! If I were already married to your cousin, it would be a different thing. But you know what a story that cursed magpie would hatch out of it!”
The rabbit looked very foolish; he assured the fox he was no match for the dog; that he was very fond of his cousin, to be sure! but he saw no necessity to interfere with her domestic affairs; and, in short, he tried all he possibly could to get out of the scrape; but the fox so artfully played on his vanity, so earnestly assured him that the dog was the biggest coward in the world and would make a humble apology, and so eloquently represented to him the glory he would obtain for manifesting so much spirit, that at length the rabbit was persuaded to go out and deliver the challenge.
“I’ll be your second,” said the fox; “and the great field on the other side the wood, two miles hence, shall be the place of battle: there we shall be out of observation. You go first, I’ll follow in half an hour; and I say, hark!—in case he does accept the challenge, and you feel the least afraid, I’ll be in the field, and take it off your paws with the utmost pleasure; rely on me, my dear sir!”
Away went the rabbit. The dog was a little astonished at the temerity of the poor creature; but on hearing that the fox was to be present, willingly consented to repair to the place of conflict. This readiness the rabbit did not at all relish; he went very slowly to the field, and seeing no fox there, his heart misgave him; and while the dog was putting his nose to the ground to try if he could track the coming of the fox, the rabbit slipped into a burrow, and left the dog to walk back again.