"It is the otter," he said to himself, remembering the discussion at table between the stranger priest and the oblate.
And he went to gain the other pond, when he encountered Father Etienne.
He told him his adventure.
"Impossible!" cried the monk, "no one has ever seen the otter; you must have mistaken it for a water rat, or some other animal, for that beast, for which we have watched for years, is invisible."
Durtal gave him a description of it.
"It is certainly the otter," admitted the guest-master, surprised.
It was evident that this otter lived in the pond in a legendary state. In monotonous lives, in days like those in a cloister, it took the proportions of a fabulous subject, of an event whereof the mystery would occupy intervals seized between prayers and offices.
"We must point out to M. Bruno the exact spot where you remarked it, for he will begin to hunt it again," said Father Etienne after a silence.
"But how can it trouble you in eating your fish, since you do not angle for them?"
"I beg your pardon; we fish for them to send them to the Archbishop," answered the monk, who went on: "Still, it is very strange that you saw the beast!"