“Mademoiselle, it was the bird a far-seeing Providence placed within the radius of my shot. 'L'homme propose; Dieu dispose.'”
“I shouldn't trust to Providence too much,” said she.
Well, between Heaven and Miss Shafthead, aided, I must say for myself, by a hand and eye that were naturally quick and not unaccustomed to exercises of skill, I managed by the end of the day to successfully uphold the honor of my country. The light was fading when we stopped the battue, the air was sharp, and the ground crisp with frost. My fair adviser had gone home a little time before, and, wrapped in pleasant recollections and meditations, I had fallen some way behind the others as we walked homeward across a stubble-field. The guns in front passed out through a gate into a lane, and I was just following them when a man stepped from the shadow of the hedge and said to me:
“A gentleman would speak to you.”
I looked at him in astonishment.
He was an absolute stranger, and his manner was serious and impressive. Behind him, in the opposite direction from that in which my friends had turned, stood a covered carriage, with another man wrapped in a cloak a few paces in front of it, and a third individual holding the horse's head.
“That is the gentleman,” added the stranger, indicating the man in the cloak.
In considerable surprise I turned towards the carriage.
“M. d'Haricot,” said the shrouded individual.
“M. le Marquis!” I cried, in astonishment.