“I have been hunting at Beaumanoir,” replied he extenuatingly; “that must explain, not excuse, my apparent neglect.” Bigot felt that he had really been a loser by his absence.
“Hunting! indeed!” Angélique affected a touch of surprise, as if she had not known every tittle of gossip about the gay party and all their doings at the Château. “They say game is growing scarce near the city, Chevalier,” continued she nonchalantly, “and that a hunting party at Beaumanoir is but a pretty menotomy for a party of pleasure is that true?”
“Quite true, mademoiselle,” replied he, laughing. “The two things are perfectly compatible,—like a brace of lovers, all the better for being made one.”
“Very gallantly said!” retorted she, with a ripple of dangerous laughter. “I will carry the comparison no farther. Still, I wager, Chevalier, that the game is not worth the hunt.”
“The play is always worth the candle, in my fancy,” said he, with a glance of meaning; “but there is really good game yet in Beaumanoir, as you will confess, Mademoiselle, if you will honor our party some day with your presence.”
“Come now, Chevalier,” replied she, fixing him mischievously with her eyes, “tell me, what game do you find in the forest of Beaumanoir?”
“Oh! rabbits, hares, and deer, with now and then a rough bear to try the mettle of our chasseurs.”
“What! no foxes to cheat foolish crows? no wolves to devour pretty Red Riding Hoods straying in the forest? Come, Chevalier, there is better game than all that,” said she.
“Oh, yes!” he half surmised she was rallying him now—“plenty, but we don't wind horns after them.”
“They say,” continued she, “there is much fairer game than bird or beast in the forest of Beaumanoir, Chevalier.” She went on recklessly, “Stray lambs are picked up by intendants sometimes, and carried tenderly to the Château! The Intendant comprehends a gentleman's devoirs to our sex, I am sure.”