"Bonjour, Monsieur Le Gros," I replied. "We seem to be the only ones here. Where's the patronne?"
"Upstairs, making her bed—another dry day," he muttered, half to himself, half to me.
"She will stay dry for some days," I returned. "The wind is well set from the northeast."
"Sacristi! a dirty time," he growled. "My steers are as dry as an empty cask."
"I'd like a little rain myself," said I, reaching for a chair—"I have a young dog to train—a spaniel Monsieur de Savignac has been good enough to give me. He is too young to learn to follow a scent on dry ground."
Le Gros raised his bull-like head with a jerk.
"De Savignac gave you a dog, did he? and he has a dog to give away, has he?"
The words came out of his coarse throat with a snarl.
I dropped the chair and faced him.