At sight of the nets the beautiful animal paused for an instant. He shook his horns menacingly, and stamped the ground with his feet; then suddenly, feeling already the scorching breath of the infuriated pack of hounds about to seize him, he made a desperate effort, and, leaping at a single bound the entire height of the fillets, threw himself into the lake. Instantly a loud and deafening shout arose, while the furious hounds, arrested in their course by the nets, uttered the most frightful howlings on seeing their prey escape.
“My cross-bow!” cried the king. “Quick! my cross-bow!” and he drew it so skilfully that at the first shot he pierced the flank of the poor animal, who immediately ceased to swim.
Satisfied with his brilliant success, the king, after having heard the plaudits of the ladies and received the congratulations of the hunters, proceeded to the pavilion, constructed of evergreens and foliage, as elegant as it was spacious, which he had had erected in the midst of the forest, in order to dine under cover.
The Duchess of Suffolk did the honors of the festival, taking the place of Queen Catherine, who, under the pretext of bad health, declined appearing at these hunting parties, the noisy sports having become insupportable to her.
Meanwhile the courtiers were greatly excited by observing a roll of paper the extremity of which projected from the right pocket of the king’s hunting-jacket; on one of the leaves, a corner of which was turned down, two words were visible—the name of “Wolsey” and that of “traitor.” Each one sought to approach the king or pass behind him in order to assure himself of the astonishing fact, of which they had the temerity to whisper mysteriously together.
But in spite of all their efforts, they were unable to discover anything more; the day and the festival ended with numerous conjectures—the fears and hopes excited in the minds of that court where for so long the learned favorite had ruled with as much authority as the king himself.
At daybreak on the morning succeeding the festival the gates were thrown open, and a carriage, bearing the royal arms and colors, drove from the great courtyard of Windsor Palace.
While the postilion trotted leisurely along, looking around from time to time as he wonderingly reflected why the horse on his right grew constantly lean in spite of the generous addition he had made to his rations, the two occupants of the carriage engaged in the following conversation:
“It is cold this morning,” said one of them, wrapping his cloak more closely about him.
“Yes; and how this fog and the heavy dew covering the earth remind one of the bivouac!”