already in the courtyard with his two hounds, Charbonneau and Montagnard,
who were leaping and barking sonorously around him. Julien, reminded of
his promise by the unusual early uproar, dressed himself with a bad
grace, and went down to join Claudet, who was bristling with impatience.
They started. There had been a sharp frost during the night; some hail
had fallen, and the roads were thinly coated with a white dust, called by
the country people, in their picturesque language, "a sugarfrost" of
snow. A thick fog hung over the forest, so that they had to guess their
way; but Claudet knew every turn and every sidepath, and thus he and his
companion arrived by the most direct line at the rendezvous. They soon
began to hear the barking of the dogs, to which Montagnard and
Charbonneau replied with emulative alacrity, and finally, through the
mist, they distinguished the group of huntsmen from Auberive.

The Belle-Etoile was a circular spot, surrounded by ancient ash-trees,
and formed the central point for six diverging alleys which stretched out
indefinitely into the forest. The monks of Auberive, at the epoch when
they were the lords and owners of the land, had made this place a
rendezvous for huntsmen, and had provided a table and some stone benches,
which, thirty years ago, were still in existence. The enclosure,
which had been chosen for the breakfast on the present occasion, was
irradiated by a huge log-fire; a very respectable display of bottles,
bread, and various eatables covered the stone table, and the dogs,
attached by couples to posts, pulled at their leashes and barked in
chorus, while their masters, grouped around the fire, warmed their
benumbed fingers over the flames, and tapped their heels while waiting
for the last-comers.

At sight of Julien and Claudet, there was a joyous hurrah of welcome.
Justice Destourbet exchanged a ceremonious hand-shake with the new