r glance.

Then between them there suddenly darted first a fly and after it the
Seneschal's flapper.

In Lithuania there are swarms of flies. Among them there is a special
variety, called "gentry flies"; in colour and form they are quite like
others, but they have a broader breast, a larger belly than the common
sort; as they fly they hum loudly and buzz beyond all endurance, and they
are so strong that they will break right through a spider's web; or if one
is caught, it will buzz there for three days, for it can contend with the
spider in single combat. All this the Seneschal had carefully observed,
and he argued further that these gentry flies produce the smaller folk,
corresponding among flies to the queen bee in a swarm, and that with their
destruction the remnant of those insects would perish. To be sure, neither
the housekeeper nor the parish priest had ever believed these deductions
of the Seneschal, but held quite different views as to the nature of
flies; the Seneschal, however, did not waver from his ancient habit;
whenever he caught sight of such a fly he immediately pursued it. Just at
that moment a "gentleman" trumpeted above his ear; twice the Seneschal
swung at it, and to his amazement missed; a third time he swung at it, and
almost knocked out a window. At last the fly, bewildered by such an
uproar, seeing on the threshold two people that barred his retreat, threw
itself in desperation between their faces. Even there the right hand of
the Seneschal darted in pursuit of it; the blow was so violent that the
two heads sprang apart like the two halves of a tree torn asunder by a
thunderbolt; both bumped against the doorposts so violently that they got
black and blue spots.

Luckily no one noticed this, for the conversation, which hitherto had been
lively and animated, but fairly orderly, ended in a sudden clamorous
outburst. As, when foxhunters are entering a wood, one hears from time to
time the crackling of trees, scattered shots, and the baying of the pack;
but then the master of the hounds unexpectedly starts the game; he gives
the signal, and a hubbub arises in the throng of huntsmen and dogs, as if
every tree of the thicket had found a voice: such is the case with
conversation--it moves on slowly, until it happens on a weighty topic, as
dogs on the game. The game of the hunters' talk was that furious dispute
of the Notary and the Assessor over their famous hounds. It lasted only a
short time, but th