“Perhaps you do not know,” continued Savin, “that it is a grave offence to kill the females.”
“Well, make your complaint,” growled Firmin.
Savin took a step forward, grasped the poacher by the collar, and went on: “To speak candidly, I have more to complain of than the mere loss of a doe. For more than three months now, thanks to your impudence and vanity, I have been deprived of contentment. You have been the cause of my misfortune.”
“Who says so?”
“I do, and my word has never been doubted.”
“Well, what do you want?” asked Firmin, who, as we know, was not a lion in the way of courage.
“We are alone, entirely alone,” pursued Barrau, with awful complacence, “and we will settle this matter right here. You have been paying court to my wife.”
“I?”
“You would deny it? You are afraid I will kill you, eh? Well, you have reason to fear. Who will prevent me if I wish to do so? You have been caught poaching—and I am a gamekeeper. There is the proof of your guilt,” pointing to the doe. “And I should only have to accuse you of having fired at me. Self-defence would be my plea. What judge would hesitate to acquit me—to congratulate me?”
While speaking Savin held his rifle in readiness. Pale and trembling, Firmin looked about as though invoking aid.