her tone like thunder--that was
the shooting.

Here he broke off, but he still held the horn. It seemed to all that the
Seneschal was still playing on, but that was the echo playing.

He began once more. You might think that the horn was changing its form,
and that in the Seneschal's lips it grew now thicker and now thinner,
imitating the cries of animals; once, prolonging itself into a wolf's
neck, it howled long and piercingly; again, as if broadening into a bear's
throat, it roared; then the bellowing of a bison cut the wind.

Here he broke off, but he still held the horn. It seemed to all that the
Seneschal was still playing on, but that was the echo playing. Hearing
this masterpiece of horn music, the oaks repeated it to the oaks and the
beeches to the beeches.

He blew again. In the horn there seemed to be a hundred horns; one could
hear mingled outcries of setting on the dogs, wrath and terror of the
hunters, the pack, and the beasts: finally the Seneschal raised his horn
aloft, and a hymn of triumph smote the clouds.

Here he broke off, but he still held the horn. It seemed to all that the
Seneschal was still playing on, but that was the echo playing. In the wood
there seemed to be a horn for every tree; one repeated the song to
another, as though it spread from choir to choir. And the music went on,
ever broader, ever farther, ever more gentle, and ever more pure and
perfect, until it died away somewhere far off, somewhere on the threshold
of the heavens!

The Seneschal, taking both hands from the horn, spread them out like a
cross; the horn fell, and swung on his leather belt. The Seneschal, his
face swollen and shining, and his eyes uplifted, stood as if inspired,
catching with his ear the last expiring tones. But meanwhile thousands of
plaudits thundered forth, thousands of congratulations and shouts of
vivat.

They gradually became quiet, and the eyes of the throng were turned on the
huge, fresh corpse of the bear. He lay besprinkled with blood and pierced
with bullets; his breast was plunged into the thick, matted grass; his
paws were spread out before him like a cross; he still breathed, but he
poured forth a stream of blood through his nostrils; his eyes were still
open, but he did not move his head. The Chamberlain's bulldogs held him
beneath the ears; on the left side hung Strapczyna; on the right Sprawnik,
choking his throat, sucked out the black blood.

Thereupon the Seneschal bade place an