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Levin looked about him to right and to left, and there, just

facing him against the dusky blue sky above the confused mass of

tender shoots of the aspens, he saw the flying bird. It was

flying straight towards him; the guttural cry, like the even

tearing of some strong stuff, sounded close to his ear; the long

beak and neck of the bird could be seen, and at the very instant

when Levin was taking aim, behind the bush where Oblonsky stood,

there was a flash of red lightning: the bird dropped like an

arrow, and darted upwards again. Again came the red flash and the

sound of a blow, and fluttering its wings as though trying to

keep up in the air, the bird halted, stopped still an instant,

and fell with a heavy splash on the slushy ground.

"Can I have missed it?" shouted Stepan Arkadyevitch, who could

not see for the smoke.