“There was a long pause, and then there rose in the stillness the unearthly howling of the baron’s hounds, a cheerful sound which only their owner’s somewhat loud converse of the evening had kept from becoming excessively obtrusive.

“‘Hark at them—­the beauties!’ cried he, showing his short, strong teeth, pointed like a dog’s in a wide grin of anticipative delight.  ’They have been kept on pretty short commons, poor things!  They are hungry.  By the way, Marshfield, you can sit tight to a horse, I trust?  If you were to roll off, you know, these splendid fellows—­they would chop you up in a second.  They would chop you up,’ he repeated unctuously, ’snap, crunch, gobble, and there would be an end of you!’

“‘If I could not ride a decent horse without being thrown,’ I retorted, a little stung by his manner, ‘after my recent three months’ torture with the Guard Cossacks, I should indeed be a hopeless subject.  Do not think of frightening me from the exploit, but say frankly if my company would be displeasing.’

“‘Tut!’ he said, waving his hand impatiently, ’it is your affair.  I have warned you.  Go and get ready if you want to come.  Time presses.’

“I was determined to be of the fray; my blood was up.  I have hinted that the baron’s Tokay had stirred it.

“I went to my room and hurriedly donned clothes more suitable for rough night work.  My last care was to slip into my pockets a brace of double-barreled pistols which formed part of my traveling kit.  When I returned I found the baron already booted and spurred; this without metaphor.  He was stretched full length on the divan, and did not speak as I came in, or even look at me.  Chewing an unlit cigar, with eyes fixed on the ceiling, he was evidently following some absorbing train of ideas.

“The silence was profound; time went by; it grew oppressive; at length, wearied out, I fell, over my chibouque, into a doze filled with puzzling visions, out of which I was awakened with a start.  My companion had sprung up, very lightly, to his feet.  In his throat was an odd, half-suppressed cry, grewsome to hear.  He stood on tiptoe, with eyes fixed, as though looking through the wall, and I distinctly saw his ears point in the intensity of his listening.

“After a moment, with hasty, noiseless energy, and without the slightest ceremony, he blew the lamps out, drew back the heavy curtains and threw the tall window wide open.  A rush of icy air, and the bright rays of the moon—­gibbous, I remember, in her third quarter—­filled the room.  Outside the mist had condensed, and the view was unrestricted over the white plains at the foot of the hill.

“The baron stood motionless in the open window, callous to the cold in which, after a minute, I could hardly keep my teeth from chattering, his head bent forward, still listening.  I listened too, with ‘all my ears,’ but could not catch a sound; indeed the silence over the great expanse of snow might have been called awful; even the dogs were mute.