"Do I not know?" replied Monsieur Pantan. "Have I not Clotilde?"
"I trust she is in excellent health, Monsieur."
"She was never better," replied Monsieur Pantan. He finished his glass,
and it was promptly refilled. Only the sound of Anastasie's regular
breathing could be heard. Monsieur Pantan put down his glass. In a
manner that tried to be casual he remarked,
"I will not attempt to conceal from Monsieur that his devotion to his
Anastasie has touched me. Believe me, Monsieur Bonticu, I am not unaware
of the sacrifice you made in coming to me for her sake."
Monsieur Bonticu, deeply moved, bowed.
"Monsieur would have done the same for his Clotilde," he said. "Monsieur
has demonstrated himself to be a thorough sportsman. I am grateful to
him. I'd have missed Anastasie."
"But naturally."
"Ah, yes," went on Monsieur Bonticu. "When my wife scolds and the
children scream, it is to her I go for a little talk. She never argues."
Monsieur Pantan looked up from a long draught.
"Does your wife scold and your children scream?" he asked.
"Alas, but too often," answered Monsieur Bonticu.
"You should hear my Rosalie," sighed Monsieur Pantan. "I too seek
consolation as you do. I talk with my Clotilde."
Monsieur Bonticu nodded, sympathetically.
"My wife is always nagging me for more money," he said with a sudden
burst of confidence. "And the undertaking business, my dear Pantan, is
not what it was."
"Do I not know?" said Pantan. "When folks are well we both suffer."
"I stagger beneath my load," sighed Bonticu.
"My load is no less light," remarked Pantan.
"If my family responsibilities should increase," observed Bonticu, "it
would be little short of a calamity."
"If mine did," said Pantan, "it would be a tragedy."
"And yet," mused Bonticu, "our responsibilities seem to go on
increasing."
"Alas, it is but too true."
"The statesmen are talking of limiting armaments," remarked Bonticu.
"An excellent idea," said Pantan, warmly.
"Can it be that they are more astute than two veteran truffle-hunters?"
"They could not possibly be, my dear Bonticu."
There was a pregnant pause. Monsieur Bonticu broke the silence.
"In the heat of the chase," he said, "one does things and says things
one afterwards regrets."
"Yes. That is true."
"In his excitement one might even so far forget himself as to call a
fellow sportsman--a really excellent fellow--a puff-ball."
"That is true. One might."
Suddenly Monsieur Bonticu thrust his fat hand toward Monsieur Pantan.
"You are not a puff-ball, Armand," he said. "You never were a
puff-ball!"
Tears leaped to the little man's eyes. He seized the extended hand in
both of his and pressed it.
"Aristide!" was all he could say. "Aristide!"
"We shall drink," cried Bonticu, "to the art of truffle-hunting."
"The science--" corrected Pantan, gently.
"To the art-science of truffle-hunting," cried Bonticu, raising his
glass.
The moon smiled down on Perigord. On the ancient, twisted streets of
Montpont it smiled with particular brightness. Down the Rue Victor Hugo,
in the middle of the street, went two men, a very stout big man and a
very thin little man, arm in arm, and singing, for all Montpont, and all
the world, to hear, a snatch of an old song from some forgotten revue.
"_Oh, Gaby, darling Gaby.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Why don't you come to me?
Bam! Bam! Bam!
And jump in the arms of your own true love,
While the wind blows chilly and cold?
Bam! Bam! Bam!_"