The cool thicket invites him into it, but he fears that the thicket will turn into woods; and to be lost in any woods, no matter how little, is deadly. They are too similar and confused in themselves, the woods, like the stirred contents of a stomach, and they have a way of making you forget yourself. Though he wants to, he will not follow the goose’s final trajectory.

He tautens the ropes of the animals he leads, renews his grip on his sack and skirts along the thicket’s edge. As he proceeds a knocking sound becomes faintly perceptible and slows down his pace. One of the black-faced lambs behind him bleats noisily at this interruption. He drops his sack and raps the lamb between the eyes with two knuckles. The lamb falls to its front knees, shakes its head.

The knocking sound continues. Glancing at the woods to his right, he decides that confronting whatever may be ahead is the lesser danger. The badger is gnawing at the knot on its noose. He kicks at it from a distance, not getting too close.

Whenever he stops for a brief rest the badger bites at the rope, and while he travels it drags its legs. It is very strong and wilful, and if it bites him in the night he will have to cut off its head to be free of its jaws. He caught it because he likes to possess things other men have not, but, still, it is more trouble than it is worth.

He has, so far, noosed two lambs, two calves and the badger. One of the calves he caught prancing by a lake this morning, and it is placid enough, easily led, though its eyes are distressed. Having lost its mother, the panic in it increases the further they get from the lake. And the badger, Monsieur Hacquelebacq reflects, is perhaps an addition too much to his little ark.

If animals are jumbled up too greatly in species, and confined too closely, disastrous things happen. Little confused microcosms set themselves up. Beasts, who should emerge into the synechdocal perfection of predator and prey, too closely combined begin to act in an erratic and unpredictable manner. Both of the lambs think one of the calves is its mother. One of the calves thinks Hacquelebacq is its mother, and the badger, who should prey on the lambs, instead wishes to prey on him. Noah’s ark, he feels, succeeded through the perfection of separation, whereas he has just a misshapen, blended troupe. He has been too ambitious and coveted too much, but, still, he wishes to travel through these deserted lands accumulating more and more diverse creatures.