mould, of old bark, of decomposing trees. ... The iris of the eye
is orange,--with red flashes: it glows at night like burning
charcoal.

And the fer-de-lance reigns absolute king over the mountains and
the ravines; he is lord of the forest and solitudes by day, and
by night he extends his dominion over the public roads, the
familiar paths, the parks, pleasure resorts. People must remain
at home after dark, unless they dwell in the city itself: if you
happen to be out visiting after sunset, only a mile from town,
your friends will caution you anxiously not to follow the
boulevard as you go back, and to keep as closely as possible to
the very centre of the path. Even in the brightest noon you cannot
venture to enter the woods without an experienced escort; you
cannot trust your eyes to detect danger: at any moment a seeming
branch, a knot of lianas, a pink or gray root, a clump of pendent
yellow It, may suddenly take life, writhe, stretch, spring,
strike.... Then you will need aid indeed, and most quickly; for
within the span of a few heart-beats the wounded flesh chills,
tumefies, softens. Soon it changes or, and begins to spot
violaceously; while an icy coldness creeps through all the blood.
If the _panseur_ or the physician arrives in time, and no vein
has been pierced, there is hope; but it more often happens that
the blow is received directly on a vein of the foot or ankle,--in
which case nothing can save the victim. Even when life is saved
the danger is not over. Necrosis of the tissues is likely to set
in: the flesh corrupts, falls from the bone sometimes in tatters;
and the colors of its putrefaction simuulate the hues of
vegetable decay,--the ghastly grays and pinks and yellows of
trunks rotting down into the dark soil which gave them birth.