Part 2 (2/2)

”Pere Fourchon,” whispered the boy, finding himself alone with the old man, ”there's _really_ an otter!”

”Do you see it?”

”There, see there!”

The old fellow was dumb-founded at beholding under water the reddish-brown fur of an actual otter.

”It's coming my way!” said the child.

”Hit him a sharp blow on the head and jump into the water and hold him fast down, but don't let him go!”

Mouche dove into the water like a frightened frog.

”Come, come, my good gentleman,” cried Pere Fourchon to Blondet, jumping into the water and leaving his sabots on the bank, ”frighten him!

frighten him! Don't you see him? he is swimming fast your way!”

The old man dashed toward Blondet through the water, calling out with the gravity that country people retain in the midst of their greatest excitements:--

”Don't you see him, there, along the rocks?”

Blondet, placed by direction of the old fellow in such a way that the sun was in his eyes, thrashed the water with much satisfaction to himself.

”Go on, go on!” cried Pere Fourchon; ”on the rock side; the burrow is there, to your left!”

Carried away by excitement and by his long waiting, Blondet slipped from the stones into the water.

”Ha! brave you are, my good gentleman! Twenty good G.o.ds! I see him between your legs! you'll have him!--Ah! there! he's gone--he's gone!”

cried the old man, in despair.

Then, in the fury of the chase, the old fellow plunged into the deepest part of the stream in front of Blondet.

”It's your fault we've lost him!” he cried, as Blondet gave him a hand to pull him out, dripping like a triton, and a vanquished triton. ”The rascal, I see him, under those rocks! He has let go his fish,” continued Fourchon, pointing to something that floated on the surface. ”We'll have that at any rate; it's a tench, a real tench.”

Just then a groom in livery on horseback and leading another horse by the bridle galloped up the road toward Conches.

”See! there's the chateau people sending after you,” said the old man.

”If you want to cross back again I'll give you a hand. I don't mind about getting wet; it saves was.h.i.+ng!”

”How about rheumatism?”

”Rheumatism! don't you see the sun has browned our legs, Mouche and me, like tobacco-pipes. Here, lean on me, my good gentleman--you're from Paris; you don't know, though you _do_ know so much, how to walk on our rocks. If you stay here long enough, you'll learn a deal that's written in the book o' nature,--you who write, so they tell me, in the newspapers.”

Blondet had reached the bank before Charles, the groom, perceived him.

”Ah, monsieur!” he cried; ”you don't know how anxious Madame has been since she heard you had gone through the gate of Conches; she was afraid you were drowned. They have rung the great bell three times, and Monsieur le cure is hunting for you in the park.”

”What time is it, Charles?”

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