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Then he rapped his forehead, as though he were tapping for some

ancient memories that had been lulled to sleep within him;

finally, gnawing his fingers, he drew blood, and shouted at the

top of his voice: "It serves me right, it does."

In the yard, where a few moments before there had been so many

cries, now everything was desolate and silent as in a graveyard;

all had gone afield. Thaddeus pricked up his ears, and put his

hands to them like trumpets; he listened till the wind that blew

from the forest brought to him the sound of horns and the shouts

of the hunting throng.

Thaddeus's horse was waiting saddled in the stable. So, musket in

hand, he vaulted upon it, and like a madman galloped towards the

inns that stood near the forest chapel, where the beaters were to

have gathered at early dawn.