‘For six mortal weeks, the bears and boars had a holiday. The houses of Koeldwethout and Swillenhausen were united; the spears rusted; and the baron’s bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing.
‘Those were great times for the four-and-twenty; but, alas! their high and palmy days had taken boots to themselves, and were already walking off.
‘“My dear,” said the baroness.
‘“My love,” said the baron.
‘“Those coarse, noisy men—”
‘“Which, ma’am?” said the baron, starting.
‘The baroness pointed, from the window at which they stood, to the courtyard beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln greens were taking a copious stirrup-cup, preparatory to issuing forth after a boar or two.
‘“My hunting train, ma’am,” said the baron.
‘“Disband them, love,” murmured the baroness.
‘“Disband them!” cried the baron, in amazement.