“What the devil are you talking about, with your cuckoo, you ape?” said the Baron. “If you wait a moment, you scamp, I will teach you how to come chaffing your master like that!”
And the Baron lifted his whip. But with all the heroism of a Spartan, Engoulevent lifted his arm above his head as a shield and continued:
“Strike, if you will, my Lord, but after that look up into this tree, and when your Lordship has seen the bird that is perched among the branches, I think you will be more ready to give me a crown than a blow.”
And the good man pointed to the oak tree in which Thibault had taken refuge on hearing the huntsmen approach. He had climbed up from branch to branch and had finally hoisted himself on to the topmost one.
The Baron shaded his eyes with his hand, and, looking up, caught sight of Thibault.
“Well, here’s something mighty queer!” he cried, “It seems that in the forest of Villers-Cotterets the deer burrow like foxes, and men perch on trees like crows. However,” continued the worthy Baron, “we will see what sort of creature we have to deal with.” And putting his hand to his mouth, he halloed:
“Ho, there, my friend! would it be particularly disagreeable for you to give me ten minutes’ conversation?”
But Thibault maintained the most profound silence.
“My Lord” said Engoulevent “if you like ...,” and he made a sign to show that he was ready to climb the tree.
“No, no,” said the Baron, at the same time putting out his hand to hold him back.