It was then that a thing happened to me--one of those things which I
should not repeat, but for my attachment to the truth. The dog looked at
me for a moment with a sort of smile upon his countenance: then, coming
close up to me while I was reloading my gun, he lifted his left hind leg,
made water against my gaiter, and then turning round, trotted away in the
direction of his master's house. You may easily suppose, that if it had
been a man who had thus insulted me, I would have had his life, or he
should have had mine. But what could I say, sir, to a dumb beast which God
had not gifted with reason?'"

This canine insult only acts as a spur to the indefatigable chasseur, who,
dogless as he finds himself, follows up his thrush till he reaches the
town of Hyères. Here he loses all trace of the bird, but endeavours to
console himself by eating the oranges which grow in the garden of his
hotel. Whilst thus engaged, a thrush perches on a tree beside him, and the
first glance at the creature's profile satisfied him that it is the same
bird whose society he has been rejoicing in the for the last two days.
Unfortunately his gun is in the house, of which the thrush seems to be
aware, for it continues singing and dressing its feathers on a branch
within ten feet of his head. Afraid of losing sight of it, M. Louet waits
till the landlord comes to announce supper, and then desires him to bring
his gun. But there is a punishment of fine and imprisonment for whoever
fires a shot, between sunset and sunrise, within the precincts of the town;
and although the enthusiastic sportsman is willing enough to run this risk,
the hotel-keeper fears to be taken for an accomplice, and refuses to fetch
the gun, threatening to drive away the bird if M. Louet goes for it
himself. At last they come to terms. M. Louet sups and sleeps under the
tree, the bird roosts on the same; and at the first stroke of the matin
bell, mine host appears with the fowling-piece. Our chasseur stretches out
his hand to take it, and--the bird flies away.