too bad--considering the season, extremely well kept. Every now and
then through an opening in the trees we had a pretty view over the
plains. As we got near the pavilion we heard shots not very far
off--evidently the shooters were getting hungry and coming our way. It
was a pretty rustic scene as we arrived. The pavilion, a log house,
standing in a clearing, alleys branching off in every direction, a
horse and cart which had brought the provisions from the château tied
to one of the trees. It was shut in on three sides, wide open in
front, a bright fire burning and a most appetizing table spread. Just
outside another big fire was burning, the cook waiting for the first
sportsman to appear to begin his classic dishes, omelette au lard and
ragoât de mouton. I was rather hungry and asked for a piece of the
pain de ménage they had for the traqueurs (beaters). I like the brown
country bread so much better than the little rolls and crisp loaves
most people ask for in France. Besides our own breakfast there was an
enormous pot on the fire with what looked like an excellent
substantial soup for the men. In a few minutes the party arrived;
first the shooters, each man carrying his gun; then the game cart,
which looked very well garnished, an army of beaters bringing up the
rear. They made quite a picturesque group, all dressed in white. There
have been so many accidents in some of the big shoots, people
imprudently firing at something moving in the bushes, which proved to
be a man and not a roebuck, that M. A. dresses all his men in white.
The gentlemen were very cheerful, said they had had capital sport, and
were quite ready for their breakfast. We didn't linger very long at
table, as the days were shortening fast, and we wanted to follow some
of the battues. The beaters had their breakfast while we were having
ours--were all seated on the ground around a big kettle of soup, with
huge hunks of brown bread on their tin plates.