“How foolish!” exclaims the disagreeable Andoche. “If you expect to catch Madame Catherine, you will have to double your speed.”
Firmin does not notice the evil slur in the old man’s suggestion. As soon as he dashes forth, all seek to evade him.
Catherine, blushing a little in spite of herself, leaves the open glade and gains the forest. In two or three long strides Firmin might overtake her, but she is too quick for him, because she darts first to the right and then to the left so skilfully that the great fellow, each time going as straight as an arrow, overleaps her by several feet and so loses her, much to the amusement of the others.
“What a goose!” grumbles that beast of an Andoche. “She will lead as far as you care to follow her.”
Though the beautiful Catherine is evidently fatigued, Firmin cannot catch her. Now she disappears from view behind the raspberry hedges, some minutes perhaps elapsing before she and her pursuer are again seen. Sometimes the gamekeeper’s wife reappears with a little grimace on her face, for the game begins to pall. The cries of enthusiasm cease.
But Catherine remains indefatigable. Old Andoche continues to jeer, and finally in his garrulous, cynical voice cries: “How interesting it would be should Monsieur Barrau happen to pass this way! He might not be altogether pleased at the sight.”
Scarcely has Andoche finished speaking when through the trees they see the gleam of a musket. The branches are pushed aside, and a man clad in velvet, with long gaiters extending from his knees, makes his appearance, followed by a dog which as he bounds to and fro barks joyously.
