I awoke next morning with the music of the horn in my ears, and leaping out of the ancient bed, went to a curtained window where the sunlight filtered through little deep-set panes. The horn ceased as I looked into the court below.
A man who might have been brother to the two falconers of the night before stood in the midst of a pack of hounds. A curved horn was strapped over his back, and in his hand he held a long-lashed whip. The dogs whined and yelped, dancing around him in anticipation; there was the stamp of horses, too, in the walled yard.
“Mount!” cried a voice in Breton, and with a clatter of hoofs the two falconers, with falcons upon their wrists, rode into the courtyard among the hounds. Then I heard another voice which sent the blood throbbing through my heart: “Piriou Louis, hunt the hounds well and spare neither spur nor whip. Thou Raoul and thou Gaston, see that the epervier does not prove himself niais , and if it be best in your judgment, faites courtoisie à l’oiseau. Jardiner un oiseau , like the mué there on Hastur’s wrist, is not difficult, but thou, Raoul, mayest not find it so simple to govern that hagard . Twice last week he foamed au vif and lost the beccade although he is used to the leurre . The bird acts like a stupid branchier . Paître un hagard n’est pas si facile. ”
Was I dreaming? The old language of falconry which I had read in yellow manuscripts—the old forgotten French of the middle ages was sounding in my ears while the hounds bayed and the hawks’ bells tinkled accompaniment to the stamping horses. She spoke again in the sweet forgotten language:
“If you would rather attach the longe and leave thy hagard au bloc , Raoul, I shall say nothing; for it were a pity to spoil so fair a day’s sport