on the horizon since morning and driving before a light breeze across the sun, it was clear that, for all their menacing blackness, they did not really intend to form a thunderstorm and spoil our last day’s pleasure.  Moreover, towards afternoon some of them broke, grew pale and elongated, and sank to the horizon again, while others of them changed to the likeness of white transparent fish-scales.  In the east, over Maslovska, a single lurid mass was louring, but Karl Ivanitch (who always seemed to know the ways of the heavens) said that the weather would still continue to be fair and dry.

In spite of his advanced years, it was in quite a sprightly manner that Foka came out to the entrance steps, to give the order “Drive up.”  In fact, as he planted his legs firmly apart and took up his station between the lowest step and the spot where the coachman was to halt, his mien was that of a man who knew his duties and had no need to be reminded of them by anybody.  Presently the ladies, also came out, and after a little discussions as to seats and the safety of the girls (all of which seemed to me wholly superfluous), they settled themselves in the vehicle, opened their parasols, and started.  As the carriage was, driving away, Mamma pointed to the hunter and asked nervously “Is that the horse intended for Vladimir Petrovitch?” On the groom answering in the affirmative, she raised her hands in horror and turned her head away.  As for myself, I was burning with impatience.  Clambering on to the back of my steed (I was just tall enough to see between its ears), I proceeded to perform evolutions in the courtyard.

“Mind you don’t ride over the hounds, sir,” said one of the huntsmen.

“Hold your tongue, It is not the first time I have been one of the party.”  I retorted with dignity.

Although Woloda had plenty of pluck, he was not altogether free from apprehensions as he sat on the hunter.  Indeed, he more than once asked as he patted it, “Is he quiet?” He looked very well on horseback—­almost a grown-up young man, and held himself so upright in the saddle that I envied him since my shadow seemed to show that I could not compare with him in looks.

Presently Papa’s footsteps sounded on the flagstones, the whip collected the hounds, and the huntsmen mounted their steeds.  Papa’s horse came up in charge of a groom, the hounds of his particular leash sprang up from their picturesque attitudes to fawn upon him, and Milka, in a collar studded with beads, came bounding joyfully from behind his heels to greet and sport with the other dogs.  Finally, as soon as Papa had mounted we rode away.

VII —­ THE HUNT