There was no particular reason why Dr. Krumm should marry Franziska Fahler, except that he was the most important young man in Huferschingen, and she was the most important young woman. People therefore thought they would make a good match, although Franziska certainly had the most to give in the way of good looks. Dr. Krumm was a short, bandy-legged, sturdy young man, with long, fair hair, a tanned complexion, light-blue eyes not quite looking the same way, spectacles, and a general air of industrious common sense about him, if one may use such a phrase. There was certainly little of the lover in his manner toward Ziska, and as little in hers toward him. They were very good friends, though, and he called her Ziska, while she gave him his nickname of Fidelio, his real name being Fidele.  
Now on this, the first morning of our stay in Huferschingen, all the population had turned out at an early hour to see us start for the forest; and as the Ober-Forster had gone away to visit his parents in Bavaria, Dr. Krumm was appointed to superintend the operations of the day. And when everybody was busy renewing acquaintance with us, gathering the straying dogs, examining guns and cartridge-belts, and generally aiding in the profound commotion of our setting out, Dr. Krumm was found to be talking in a very friendly and familiar manner with our pretty Franziska. Charlie eyed them askance. He began to say disrespectful things of Krumm: he thought Krumm a plain person. And then, when the bandy-legged doctor had got all the dogs, keepers, and beaters together, we set off along the road, and presently plunged into the cool shade of the forest, where the thick moss suddenly silenced our footsteps, and where there was a moist and resinous smell in the air.
 
Well, the incidents of the forenoon’s shooting, picturesque as they were, and full of novelty to Tita’s protege, need not be described. At the end of the fourth drive, when we had got on nearly to luncheon-time, it appeared that Charlie had killed a handsome buck, and he was so pleased with this performance that he grew friendly with Dr. Krumm, who had, indeed, given him the haupt-stelle. But when, as we sat down to our sausages and bread and red wine, Charlie incidentally informed our commander-in-chief that, during one of the drives, a splendid yellow fox had come out of the underwood and stood and stared at him for three or four seconds, the doctor uttered a cry of despair.
 
“I should have told you that,” he said, in English that was not quite so good as Ziska’s, “if I had remembered, yes! The English will not shoot the foxes; but they are very bad for us; they kill the young deer. We are glad to shoot them; and Franziska she told me she wanted a yellow fox for the skin to make something.”
 
Charlie got very red in the face. He had missed a chance. If he had known that Franziska wanted a yellow fox, all the instinctive veneration for that animal that was in him would have gone clean out, and the fate of the animal—for Charlie was a smart shot—would have been definitely sealed.
 
“Are there many of them?” said he, gloomily.
 
“No; not many. But where there is one there are generally four or five. In the next drive we may come on them, yes! I will put you in a good place, sir, and you must not think of letting him go away; for Franziska, who has waited two, three weeks, and not one yellow fox not anywhere, and it is for the variety of the skin in a—a—I do not know what you call it.”
 
“A rug, I suppose,” said Charlie.
 
I subsequently heard that Charlie went to his post with a fixed determination to shoot anything of yellow colour that came near him. His station was next to that of Dr. Krumm; but of course they were invisible to each other. The horns of the beaters sounded a warning; the gunners cocked their guns and stood on the alert; in the perfect silence each one waited for the first glimmer of a brown hide down the long green glades of young fir. Then, according to Charlie’s account, by went two or three deer like lightning—all of them does. A buck came last, but swerved just as he came in sight, and backed and made straight for the line of beaters. Two more does, and then an absolute blank. One or two shots had been heard at a distance; either some of the more distant stations had been more fortunate, or one or other of the beaters had tried his luck. Suddenly there was a shot fired close to Charlie; he knew it must have been the doctor. In about a minute afterward he saw some pale-yellow object slowly worming its way through the ferns; and here, at length, he made sure he was going to get his yellow fox. But just as the animal came within fair distance, it turned over, made a struggle or two, and lay still. Charlie rushed along to the spot: it was, indeed, a yellow fox, shot in the head, and now as dead as a door-nail.
 
What was he to do? Let Dr. Krumm take home this prize to Franziska, after he had had such a chance in the afternoon? Never! Charlie fired a barrel into the air, and then calmly awaited the coming up of the beaters and the drawing together of the sportsmen.
 
Dr. Krumm, being at the next station, was the first to arrive. He found Charlie standing by the side of the slain fox.
 
“Ha!” he said, his spectacles fairly gleaming with delight, “you have shotted him! You have killed him! That is very good—that is excellent! Now you will present the skin to Miss Franziska, if you do not wish to take it to England.”
 
“Oh no!” said Charlie, with a lordly indifference. “I don’t care about it. Franziska may have it.”
 
Charlie pulled me aside, and said, with a solemn wink:
 
“Can you keep a secret?”
 
“My wife and I can keep a secret. I am not allowed to have any for myself.”
 
“Listen,” said the unabashed young man; “Krumm shot that fox. Mind you don’t say a word. I must have the skin to present to Franziska.”
 
I stared at him; I had never known him guilty of a dishonest action. But when you do get a decent young English fellow condescending to do anything shabby, be sure it is a girl who is the cause. I said nothing, of course; and in the evening a trap came for us, and we drove back to Huferschingen.
 
Tita clapped her hands with delight; for Charlie was a favourite of hers, and now he was returning like a hero, with a sprig of fir in his cap to show that he had killed a buck.
 
“And here, Miss Franziska,” he said, quite gaily, “here is a yellow fox for you. I was told that you wanted the skin of one.”
 
Franziska fairly blushed for pleasure; not that the skin of a fox was very valuable for her, but that the compliment was so open and marked. She came forward, in German fashion, and rather shyly shook hands with him in token of her thanks.
 
When Tita was getting ready for dinner I told her about the yellow fox. A married man must have no secrets.
 
“He is not capable of such a thing,” she says, with a grand air.
 
“But he did it,” I point out. “What is more, he glories in it. What did he say when I remonstrated with him on the way home! ‘Why,’ says he, ‘I will put an end to Krumm! I will abolish Krumm! I will extinguish Krumm!’ Now, madame, who is responsible for this? Who had been praising Franziska night and day as the sweetest, gentlest, cleverest girl in the world, until this young man determines to have a flirtation with her and astonish you?”
 
“A flirtation!” says Tita, faintly. “Oh no! Oh, I never meant that.”
 
“Ask him just now, and he will tell you that women deserve no better. They have no hearts; they are treacherous. They have beautiful eyes, but no conscience. And so he means to take them as they are, and have his measure of amusement.”
 
“Oh, I am sure he never said anything so abominably wicked,” cried Tita, laying down the rose that Franziska had given her for her hair. “I know he could not say such things. But if he is so wicked—if he has said them—it is not too late to interfere. I will see about it.”
 
She drew herself up as if Jupiter had suddenly armed her with his thunderbolts. If Charlie had seen her at this moment he would have quailed. He might by chance have told the truth, and confessed that all the wicked things he had been saying about woman’s affection were only a sort of rhetoric, and that he had no sort of intention to flirt with poor Franziska, nor yet to extinguish and annihilate Dr. Krumm.
 
The heartbroken boy was in very good spirits at dinner. He was inclined to wink. Tita, on the contrary, maintained an impressive dignity of demeanour; and when Franziska’s name happened to be mentioned she spoke of the young girl as her very particular friend, as though she would dare Charlie to attempt a flirtation with one who held that honour. But the young man was either blind or reckless, or acting a part for mere mischief. He pointed the finger of scorn at Dr. Krumm. He asked Tita if he should bring her a yellow fox next day. He declared he wished he could spend the remainder of his life in a Black Forest Inn, with a napkin over his arm, serving chopins. He said he would brave the wrath of the Furst by shooting a capercailzie on the very first opportunity, to bring the shining feathers home to Franziska.
 
When Tita and I went upstairs at night the small and gentle creature was grievously perplexed.
 
“I cannot make it out,” she said. “He is quite changed. What is the matter with him?”
 
“You behold, madam, in that young man the moral effects of vulpicide. A demon has entered into him. You remember, in ‘Der Freischutz,’ how—”
 
“Did you say vulpicide?” she asks, with a sweet smile. “I understood that Charlie’s crime was that he did not kill the fox.”
 
I allow her the momentary triumph. Who would grudge to a woman a little verbal victory of that sort? And, indeed, Tita’s satisfaction did not last long. Her perplexity became visible on her face once more.
 
“We are to be here three weeks,” she said, almost to herself, “and he talks of flirting with poor Franziska. Oh, I never meant that!”
 
“But what did you mean?” I ask her, with innocent wonder.
 
Tita hangs down her head, and there is an end to that conversation; but one of us, at least, has some recollection of a Christmas wager.