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"I was running," interrupted the Notary, wiping the sweat from

his brow, "I was running right after the bear; but the Seneschal

called out, 'Stay in your places!' How could I stay there; the

bear was making full speed for the fields, like a hare, farther

and farther; finally I lost my breath and had no hope of catching

up; then I looked to the right: he was standing right there, and

the trees were not dense. When I aimed at him, I thought, 'Hold

on, Bruin!' and sure enough, there he lies dead. It's a fine gun,

a real Sagalas; there is the inscription, _Sagalas, London a

Balabanowka_." (A famous Polish smith lived there, who made

Polish guns, but decorated them in English fashion.)

"How's that?" snorted the Assessor, "in the name of a thousand

bears! The idea of your killing it! What rubbish are you

talking?"

"Listen," replied the Notary, "this is no court investigation;

this is a hunting party; we will summon all as witnesses."