For the first
offence, by the Salic law, there was a fine of fifteen sols; and
should a man be taken more than once in fault, or circumstances
aggravate the colour of his guilt, he might be whipped, branded, or
hanged. There was a hangman over at Melun, and, I doubt not, a fine
tall gibbet hard by the town gate, where Jacques might see his
fellows dangle against the sky as he went to market.
And then, if he lived near to a cover, there would be the more hares
and rabbits to eat out his harvest, and the more hunters to trample
it down. My lord has a new horn from England. He has laid out seven
francs in decorating it with silver and gold, and fitting it with a
silken leash to hang about his shoulder. The hounds have been on a
pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Mesmer, or Saint Hubert in the
Ardennes, or some other holy intercessor who has made a speciality of
the health of hunting-dogs. In the grey dawn the game was turned and
the branch broken by our best piqueur. A rare day's hunting lies
before us. Wind a jolly flourish, sound the BIEN-ALLER with all your
lungs. Jacques must stand by, hat in hand, while the quarry and
hound and huntsman sweep across his field, and a year's sparing and
labouring is as though it had not been.
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