marvelous. So bold, so easy!”
“And Nikolásha? Where is he? By the Lyádov upland, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. He knows where to stand. He understands the matter so well that Danílo and I are often quite astounded,” said Semën, well knowing what would please his master.
“Rides well, eh? And how well he looks on his horse, eh?”
“A perfect picture! How he chased a fox out of the rank grass by the Zavárzinsk thicket the other day! Leaped a fearful place; what a sight when they rushed from the covert … the horse worth a thousand rubles and the rider beyond all price! Yes, one would have to search far to find another as smart.”
“To search far …” repeated the count, evidently sorry Semën had not said more.
“To search far,” he said, turning back the skirt of his coat to get at his snuffbox.
“The other day when he came out from Mass in full uniform, Mikháil Sidórych …” Semën did not finish, for on the still air he had distinctly caught the music of the hunt with only two or three hounds giving tongue. He bent down his head and listened, shaking a warning finger at his master. “They are on the scent of the cubs …” he whispered, “straight to the Lyádov uplands.”
The count, forgetting to smooth out the smile on his face, looked into the distance straight before him, down the narrow open space, holding the snuffbox in his hand but not taking any. After the cry of the hounds came the deep tones of the wolf call from Danílo’s hunting horn; the pack joined the first three hounds and they could be heard in full