WE left the ruins on the side opposite to that on which we had entered, Lucien going first.  
As soon as we had got into the brushwood a pheasant once more loudly announced his presence.
 
He was about eighty paces from us, roosting in the branches of the chestnut¹ tree, the approach to which was prevented on all sides by the undergrowth.
 
“I do not quite see how you are going to get him,” I said to Lucien; “it does not appear a very easy shot.”
 
“No,” he replied; “but if I could just see him, I would fire from here.”
 
“You do not mean to say that your gun will kill a pheasant at eighty yards?”
 
“Not with shot,” he replied; “it will with a bullet.”
 
“Ah! that is a different thing altogether. I did not know you were loaded with ball. You were right to undertake the shot.”
 
“Would you like to see the pheasant?” asked Orlandi.
 
“Yes,” said Lucien, “I confess that I should.”
 
“Wait a moment, then;” and Orlandi began to imitate the clucking of the hen pheasant.
 
Then, without our being able to see the bird, we perceived a movement in the leaves of the chestnut-tree. The pheasant was evidently mounting branch by branch as he replied to the call of the hen imitated by Orlandi.
 
At length he arrived at the end of a branch, and was quite visible in the moonlight.
 
Orlandi ceased, and the pheasant remained motionless.
 
At the same moment Lucien levelled his gun, and, with a quick aim, fired.
 
The pheasant fell like a stone.
 
“Fetch it!” said Lucien to Diamond.
 
The dog rushed into the brushwood, and soon returned with the bird, pierced by the bullet, in his mouth.
 
“That is a good shot,” I said. “I congratulate you upon it, particularly with a fowling-piece.”
 
“Oh,” said Lucien, “I do not deserve your praise, for one barrel is rifled, and carries a ball like a carbine.”
 
“Never mind, such a shot with a carbine deserves honourable² mention.”
 
“Bah!” said Orlandi; “why, with a carbine, Monsieur Lucien could hit a five-franc piece at three hundred paces.”
 
“And can you shoot with a pistol as well as with a gun?”
 
“Yes,” said Lucien, “very nearly. At twenty-five paces I can always divide six balls out of twelve on the blade of a knife.”
 
I took off my hat and saluted³ the speaker, saying,
 
“Is your brother an equally good shot?”
 
“My brother?” he replied. “Poor Louis! he has never handled gun nor pistol in his life. My great fear is that he will get mixed up in some affair in Paris, and, brave as he undoubtedly⁴ is, he will be killed to sustain the honour of the country.”
 
Lucien, as he spoke⁵, thrust the pheasant into the great pocket of his velveteen coat.
 
“Now,” he said, “my dear Orlandi, till to-morrow farewell.”
 
“Till to-morrow, Monsieur Lucien?”
 
“I count upon your punctuality. At ten o’clock your friends and relatives will be at the end of the street. On the opposite side Colona, with his friends, will be likewise present, and we shall be on the steps of the church.”
 
“That is agreed, Monsieur Lucien. Many thanks for your trouble; and to you, monsieur,” he added, turning to me, “I am obliged for the honour you have done me.”
 
After this exchange of compliments we separated, Orlandi disappearing in the brushwood, while we took our way back to the village.
 
As for Diamond, he was puzzled which to follow, and he stood looking right and left at the Orlandi and ourselves alternately. After hesitating for about five minutes, he did us the honour to ............