“Is there, then, a chance of my getting a shot, if I remain here to-morrow?”
“Indeed I cannot promise much. They say the game is getting very scarce. I am sometimes a whole week without venison. You expected better news, I know, for I saw your rifle in the carriage.”
“Not here,” said Baron Z—; “but I am on my way to Reichenhall and Berchtesgaden, and at one place or the other I hope to have a chamois-hunt. A friend of mine wishes to see the sport.”
“Ah, so,” cried the landlady, looking intelligently towards Hamilton. “I have part of a chamois in the house; perhaps the gentleman would like a ragout of it?”
“Should you like some chamois for supper,” asked A. Z., turning to Hamilton.
“Oh! of all things,” he answered eagerly.
“It is rather a dry kind of meat,” she continued, “I have eaten it but twice myself; once from curiosity, the second time from—necessity. You remember, Herrmann?”
“Yes; when we came out of Tyrol and went to the Klamm. I think we ought to show, at least, one of the Klamms to Mr. Hamilton. An expedition of that kind will be something new to him, and a day more or less is of no consequence to us.”
“I am sure you are very kind,” said Hamilton, delighted at the word “expedition,” but not in the least knowing what he was to see.
“We might have the carriage to meet us at Unken, and our landlady will get us a key of the woodman’s house.”