"Of course, madame; for M. Frederick told me that Jean François—you know Jean François, the farmer near Coudraie?"
"Yes, yes, I know; go on."
"It seems that Jean François told M. Frederick yesterday that a wild boar got into his garden a night or two ago, and ruined his potatoes; and M. Frederick told me he was going to station himself in a hiding-place that Jean François knew of, and kill the animal."
"But that is so dangerous," cried Madame Bastien. "Frederick never shot at a boar in his life. If he misses, he is sure to be killed."
"I don't think you need feel any anxiety, madame. M. Frederick is an excellent shot, and—"
"Then my son is at the farmer's house now, I suppose?"
"I presume so, as he is going with the farmer this evening."
A quarter of an hour afterward the young mother, panting and breathless,—for she had run every step of the way,—knocked at the door of the farmhouse, where Jean François and his wife and children were seated around the fire.
"Jean François, take me where my son is at once," cried Madame Bastien; then she added, reproachfully, "How could you allow a youth of his age to expose himself to such danger? But come, I entreat you, come, it may not be too late to prevent this imprudence on his part."
The farmer and his wife exchanged looks of profound astonishment, then Jean François said: