“Why not to-day?”
“How so?”
“Let’s catch them up, and see her again at least.”
He began to laugh.
“Run after young girls at my age! Well, well, it was my advice. Come along!”
We crossed the avenue, and plunged into the forest.
Lampron had formerly acquired a reputation for tireless agility among the fox-hunters of the Roman Campagna. He still deserves it. In twenty strides he left me behind. I saw him jumping over the heather, knocking off with his cane the young shoots on the oaks, or turning his head to look at me as I struggled after, torn by brambles and pricked by gorse. A startled pheasant brought him to a halt. The bird rose under his feet and soared into the full light.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said he. “Look out, we must be more careful; we are scaring the game. We should come upon the path they took, about sixty yards ahead.”
Five minutes later he was signalling to me from behind the trunk of a great beech.
“Here they are.”