Short Stories, vol 4 | Page 7

see him and of getting something to eat.
And when the husband and wife were alone, face to face, she said, her
face distorted with grief:
"We'll have to bake four dozen more dumplings! Why couldn't he have
made up his mind last night?"
The husband, more resigned, answered:
"Well, we'll not have to do this every day."

THE GAMEKEEPER
It was after dinner, and we were talking about adventures and accidents
which happened while out shooting.
An old friend, known to all of us, M. Boniface, a great sportsman and a
connoisseur of wine, a man of wonderful physique, witty and gay, and
endowed with an ironical and resigned philosophy, which manifested
itself in caustic humor, and never in melancholy, suddenly exclaimed:
"I know a story, or rather a tragedy, which is somewhat peculiar. It is
not at all like those which one hears of usually, and I have never told it,
thinking that it would interest no one.
"It is not at all sympathetic. I mean by that, that it does not arouse the
kind of interest which pleases or which moves one agreeably.
"Here is the story:
"I was then about thirty-five years of age, and a most enthusiastic

sportsman.
"In those days I owned a lonely bit of property in the neighborhood of
Jumieges, surrounded by forests and abounding in hares and rabbits. I
was accustomed to spending four or five days alone there each year,
there not being room enough to allow of my bringing a friend with me.
"I had placed there as gamekeeper, an old retired gendarme, a good
man, hot-tempered, a severe disciplinarian, a terror to poachers and
fearing nothing. He lived all alone, far from the village, in a little house,
or rather hut, consisting of two rooms downstairs, with kitchen and
store- room, and two upstairs. One of them, a kind of box just large
enough to accommodate a bed, a cupboard and a chair, was reserved
for my use.
"Old man Cavalier lived in the other one. When I said that he was alone
in this place, I was wrong. He had taken his nephew with him, a young
scamp about fourteen years old, who used to go to the village and run
errands for the old man.
"This young scapegrace was long and lanky, with yellow hair, so light
that it resembled the fluff of a plucked chicken, so thin that he seemed
bald. Besides this, he had enormous feet and the hands of a giant.
"He was cross-eyed, and never looked at anyone. He struck me as being
in the same relation to the human race as ill-smelling beasts are to the
animal race. He reminded me of a polecat.
"He slept in a kind of hole at the top of the stairs which led to the two
rooms.
"But during my short sojourns at the Pavilion--so I called the hut--
Marius would give up his nook to an old woman from Ecorcheville,
called Celeste, who used to come and cook for me, as old man
Cavalier's stews were not sufficient for my healthy appetite.
"You now know the characters and the locality. Here is the story:
"It was on the fifteenth of October, 1854--I shall remember that date as
long as I live.
"I left Rouen on horseback, followed by my dog Bock, a big Dalmatian
hound from Poitou, full-chested and with a heavy jaw, which could
retrieve among the bushes like a Pont-Andemer spaniel.
"I was carrying my satchel slung across my back and my gun
diagonally across my chest. It was a cold, windy, gloomy day, with
clouds scurrying across the sky.

"As I went up the hill at Canteleu, I looked over the broad valley of the
Seine, the river winding in and out along its course as far as the eye
could see. To the right the towers of Rouen stood out against the sky,
and to the left the landscape was bounded by the distant slopes covered
with trees. Then I crossed the forest of Roumare and, toward five
o'clock, reached the Pavilion, where Cavalier and Celeste were
expecting me.
"For ten years I had appeared there at the same time, in the same
manner; and for ten years the same faces had greeted me with the same
words:
"'Welcome, master! We hope your health is good.'
"Cavalier had hardly changed. He withstood time like an old tree; but
Celeste, especially in the past four years, had become unrecognizable.
"She was bent almost double, and, although still active, when she
walked her body was almost at right angles to her legs.
"The old woman, who was very devoted to me, always seemed affected
at seeing me again, and each time, as I left, she would say:
"'This may be the last time,