CHAPTER XI

THE SUPPER

Contrary to the expectation of the baron, Létorière dismounted from a horse, instead of getting out of a chaise, and gave his animal in charge of the postilion.

The master of Henferester understood the duties of his position too well not to accord a polite reception to a gentleman who had come to ask a favor of him. He saw, moreover, that Létorière was much less effeminate than he had been led to believe. A certain amount of energy was necessary to bring him fifteen leagues on a post-horse, in a dark night and frightful weather.

When the Marquis entered, he was nearly suffocated by the _substantial_ atmosphere of which we have spoken, to which was now added the strong odor of the kennel, exhaling from the crowded hounds. At sight of the stranger, they began to bay with marvellous accord.

The Marquis stopped, seemed to listen to their howlings with unspeakable satisfaction, and said in very good German:

"On my faith, baron, I have never heard dogs with better throats than yours. By St. Hubert! here is something to make the true huntsman's heart beat!" Then, without noticing the governor, he began to examine in detail, with serious interest, the qualities of the dogs who approached him; and exclaimed, in a tone of increasing admiration: "Good dogs! brave dogs! our dogs of Normandy and Poitou are not so good as these; yours have better heads, are better formed about the flanks. See them! They are the most beautiful dogs of their kind I ever saw in my life! Come here, my fine fellow!" And Létorière took a great white dog, marked with black, by his two forepaws, looked at him with the eye of a connoisseur for several minutes, and, with an air of approbation, said to the baron, who stood by astonished: "That's one of your best dogs, baron; that's one of your blood-hounds, isn't it? He has served you a long time; so much the better; years improve blood-hounds."

Confounded by the assurance and volubility of the Marquis, the governor, a downright huntsman, too proud of his dogs to take offence at any attention which they excited, and, above all, struck by the remarks of Létorière about the blood-hound, answered almost mechanically:

"But who told you that this dog Moick was my blood-hound?"

"How, who told me, baron? First the mark of the collator which is to be seen on his neck, on his worn hair, as clearly as the marks of the breastplate on a draft-horse; and then his deep and hollow voice, which proves also that he never barks. All this is more than enough to indicate a blood-hound to one who is not a novice in the brotherhood of joyous huntsmen. And then what a well-developed nose! and the chase-bone, as salient as a linger! Believe me, baron, in all your life you will never find a finer blood-hound! make the most of him! Ah well! I see there a quarter of venison, which is getting cold; don't let us wait any longer, I am as hungry as forty devils! You shall see how I'll play the knife and fork! Give us your hand, baron! By St. Hubert, our common patron, you are a brave old German; I was told so, and now I'm sure of it."

"Monsieur, may I know to whom I have the honor of speaking?" demanded the baron, more and more astonished at the cavalier manner of the stranger.

"That's right, baron. My name is Létorière; I have come to speak with you about my lawsuit . . . But as we must see clearly in this chaos, blacker than hell, and as it is now night, we will wait for the day . . . that is to say, to-morrow morning, before talking about it . . . Now, let's go to table, since I have invited myself without ceremony. Excuse the rudeness of my manner, but I am a child of the forests."

The governor was stupefied. He had expected to see a little dandy, speaking with the tips of his lips, pretentious, scented, delicate, as ignorant of horses and dogs as a Leipsic shopkeeper; and he found him a jovial, stanch young fellow, who seemed to know all about hunting, and whose dress vied in negligence with his own.

The baron felt most favorably disposed towards Létorière. The admiration which the latter had shown for the dogs, increased the good-will of the governor for his guest, so that he cordially answered: "The castle of Henferester is at your disposal, Monsieur; I only wish I could offer you greater hospitality."

"You are too particular, baron. If you knew me better, you would see that I could not desire entertainment more in accordance with my tastes. To the table, baron!" and the Marquis approached the fire.

Létorière had undergone a complete moral and physical transformation. He who had been applauded at the theatre for the superlative elegance of his dress, for the grace and charm of his person, now wore an old blue hunting-coat with a velvet collar faded to dusky red; great boots not less rough, not less muddy, not less heavily spurred than those of the German Nimrod. A knot of leather tied his unpowdered hair, disordered by his journey; his beard was half long, and the delicate whiteness of his hands was concealed by a tint of soot, which made them look as tanned as the baron's. In short, everything was changed in the Marquis, even to the enchanting tone of his voice, now harsh and a little hoarse.

None of these peculiarities escaped the baron.

"Do you know, Erhard," said he in a low tone to his huntsman, "do you know that this Frenchman immediately recognized old Moick as a blood-hound, and one of our best dogs?"

"Indeed, my lord!" said Erhard, with a doubting air.

"It is so, Erhard; I begin to think they do know something about the chase in France."

Then addressing his major-domo, while the Marquis was drying himself at the fire, the baron said:

"Remove your plates, Selbitz; Frenchmen are not used to our German manners."

Selbitz began to execute the order to his own discontent, as well as that of Erhard, when Létorière, fearing to make two enemies so near the governor by a misunderstood fastidiousness, cried:

"What! baron, you wish me, then, to take my horse and return to Vienna without any supper! and why the devil do you remove the plates of those brave men? Am I more of a gentleman than you, that I should be shocked at your domestic habits?"

"It is our old German custom, it is true," said the baron, "but I thought that in France . . ."

"Baron, we are now in Germany, at the house of one of the most worthy representatives of the old nobility of the Empire. The rule of this house ought to be inviolable; thus, then, my worthy huntsman," addressing himself to Erhard Trusches, "and you, my brave director of the family tuns, hogsheads and barrels, take your places again, with the consent of the baron, who, I hope, will not refuse me this grace."

At a sign from the baron, the two servants joyfully replaced their plates at the lower end of the table. The governor pointed to the Marquis's seat, and all prepared to attack the venison, and the immense dish of sauer-kraut and bacon which smoked on the table.

The baron plunged his knife into the venison to carve it, when Létorière, with a grave and solemn air, putting his hand on the governor's arm,--

"One moment, baron I devil take me if I ever dine without saying blessing and grace."

The baron frowned, and answered with impatience and embarrassment:

"Since my chaplain died I have almost forgotten the words; but I give the sense--Well, don't you know the blessing, Erhard?"

"No, my lord," said Erhard, in a peevish tone, "I say it once for the year, and yesterday was my day for saying it."

"And you, Selbitz?"

"I, my lord! my brother, the minister of Blumenthal, says it for me every day."

"Ah, baron, are you all Turks? So it will fall to me to say grace."

And the Marquis said in a loud voice, "Great St. Hubert, please to make the venison fat, the wine good, the appetite ravenous, and the thirst unquenchable." Then he emptied at one draught the tankard which held a pint of Rhine wine, wiped his mustaches with the back of his hand, and, putting the mug on the table, said _Amen._

This pleasantry made the worthy governor almost burst with laughter; imitating the prowess of his guest, he drank at one breath his cup of wine, repeated Amen with the voice of a Stentor, and found his solicitor a jolly good fellow.

The two servants, quite as much tickled as their master by the strange blessing of the Marquis, nevertheless moderated the expression of their gayety.

"Selbitz," said the governor, soon animated by the good cheer and the sallies of Létorière, "go and refill our tankards, and don't forgot yours and Erhard's; it is a fête to-day at Henferester, in honor of my guest."

And the baron affectionately tendered his great hand to the Marquis, whose fingers he rudely squeezed, as much in genuine cordiality as to show his strength.

Létorière, who, under a delicate exterior, concealed great muscular strength, answered his pressure quite as roughly. The baron, who had not expected this proof of his vigor, said, laughing, with an astonished air:

"A rod of steel is often as strong as a great bar of iron, my guest."

"But unhappily, baron, a great glass will hold more than a little one," replied the Marquis.

The wine and the beer began to circulate; the baron saw, with a sort of national pride, Létorière, after having eaten five or six slices of venison, bravely attack the sauer-kraut and smoked bacon, of which he praised the appetizing savor, emptying his two tankards two or three times, meanwhile.

While satisfying his furious appetite, Létorière had not remained silent. His lively and natural wit, excited by the good cheer, charmed by a thousand pleasantries; in a word, Selbitz and Erhard saw, to their great astonishment, their master, ordinarily so grave and taciturn, laugh in this one evening more than he had laughed for many years.

The huntsman, recognizing in Létorière an accomplished hunter, listened religiously to his slightest words, when the baron ordered him to carry the dogs back to their kennel, and give them their supper. A second iron pot, destined for the hounds, was taken from the fire.

The major-domo, after removing the dishes, placed upon the table the tankard of kirchenwasser, an earthen jar full of tobacco, and gave the baron an old pipe.

The latter filled it, saying to Létorière, with whom he already felt entirely at ease, "Well! tobacco-smoke won't offend you, Marquis?"

For answer, the Marquis drew from his pocket an enormous pipe, which bore the marks of long and faithful service, and began to fill it with familiar ease.

"You smoke then, Marquis!" cried the delighted governor, clapping his hands with admiration.

"Do people live without smoking, baron? On returning from the chase, after a good meal, what greater pleasure is there than smoking a pipe with your feet on the andirons, drinking from time to time a swallow of kirchenwasser, this savage offspring of the Black Forest, which is, to my thinking, as much superior to French brandy as a heath-cock is to a barn-yard fowl?" And after this audacious flattery, the Marquis enveloped himself in a thick cloud of smoke.

The governor, animated by his frequent libations, and whose head was not, perhaps, quite so calm and so cool as that of his guest, regarded the Marquis with a sort of ecstasy; he could not understand how a body so frail in appearance, was so vigorous in reality; how a Frenchman could drink and smoke as much as, or more, than he, the _widerkom vierge_, the subduer of the most redoubtable drinkers of the Empire.

"To the health of your mistress, my guest!" said he gayly to the Marquis.

"My mistress! that's my gun," said Létorière, stretching himself out by the fire, and poking it with the toe of his great boot, the soles of which were an inch thick. "Devil take the women! they cannot bear the smell of tobacco, of brandy, or of the kennel, without putting a flask of perfume to their noses. Do you make much account of women, baron?"

"I love better to hear the clatter of spurs than the rustle of petticoats, my guest; but at my age that is wisdom," said the baron, more and more astonished to find the Marquis sharing his rustic tastes and his antipathies to the ridiculous affectations of the fair sex.

"At all ages it is wisdom, baron; and I would give all the love-sick guitars, all the melancholy lays of the troubadours, for the old trumpet of a forester."

"Do you know one thing, my guest?" said the baron, striking his mug against that of the Marquis.

"Say on, baron," replied the Marquis, filling his pipe anew.

"Well! before I saw you, knowing you were coming to interest me about your lawsuit, which unhappily . . .

"Devil take the lawsuit, baron!" cried Létorière; "the one who speaks of it this evening shall be condemned to drink a pint of water!"

"So be it, Marquis! Well, before I saw you it seemed to me that I should much rather go through a bramble bush than to receive you; frankly, I dreaded your arrival. . . . I believed you a dandy and a beau." . . .

"Thank you, baron! Well, for my part, I believed you to be an Alcindor, a Cytherean shepherd."

"Now, although I have known you but this evening," resumed the baron, "I will say to you frankly, that when you quit this poor castle of Henferester I shall have lost the best companion that a man could have for a long evening at the fire-side."

"And also to pass a hard day of hunting in the depths of the forest. Devil take the coxcomb who prefers balls and gallantry to the bottle, the pipe and hunting. If you wish to prove to me that your dogs are as good as they are handsome, baron, you will see that I am worthy to follow them."

"That's right, my guest! To-morrow morning, by daylight, we will be ready for the chase."

"Let it be as you say, baron; we will speak of the lawsuit day after to-morrow, not before--remember--the pint of water to him who speaks of it before."

"Bravo, my guest!" said the baron, "but it is late, and you are fatigued; old Selbitz will conduct you to your chamber,--that is to say, a kind of room furnished with a paltry bed, which is all I have to offer you. . . . My chamber is still worse."

"Ah, well, no ceremony, baron; rather than give you any trouble, I will take one of my boots for a bolster; you will give me an armful of straw, and I shall pass a comfortable night before this fire, which will burn until morning."

"I have thus passed many nights in the huts of charcoal burners," said the baron, with a sigh of regret, "when I was hunting in the Black Forest; but in fact, my friend, however bad your bed may be, you will find it more comfortable than this floor, beaten down like a threshing-ground."

"To-morrow morning, baron, I will myself sound the _reveille_" said the Marquis; "but before that, let me sound the good-night." And Létorière, taking from the wall the governor's trumpet, gave this last flourish with such perfection, with such a bold and free hunting air, that the baron enthusiastically cried:

"In the thirty years I've hunted, I never heard so fine a trumpeter."

"That is easily enough explained, baron; it is because you have never heard yourself sound it. Your trumpet is so true that you cannot help being master of this noble science. But until to-morrow,--baron, good-night, and above all, don't dream of water, or sour wine, or empty bottles."

"Good-night, Marquis!"

The baron called Selbitz, and ordered him to conduct his guest to the rat-chamber already described, in which a great fire had been lighted.

Létorière, fatigued with his journey, slept soundly enough, and the baron did the same, after having several times remarked to Selbitz and Erhard, in giving them their orders for the next day, that it was a pity that this young man was a Frenchman, for he was quite worthy of having been born in Germany.