96 STORIES FROM DAUDET

house, whence one could hear the
crackling of a great fire of pine
branches. They chatted together, gun
on shoulder, discussing their shots,
whilst the dogs came behind, weary,
with their tongues hanging out.

‘They are going to breakfast,’ said
my companion to me, ‘let us do the
same.’

And we entered a field of buckwheat
which is quite close to the wood, a
great field white and black with the
flower and grain, smelling like almonds.
Beautiful pheasants with tawny plum-
age were pecking away there too, but
with their red crests down for fear of
being seen. Ah, they were not so
proud as usual. While eating they
asked us for news and wanted to know
if any of their own number had fallen
yet. In the meanwhile the breakfast
of the sportsmen, at first quiet enough,
had become more and more noisy; we
could hear the clinking of the glasses
and popping of the corks. The old