atch! I will not
permit a person to stir from the spot. From here we can all see well how
the hare runs for the field." In very truth, the hare felt behind it the
hunters and the pack; it was making for the field; it stretched out behind
it its ears like two deer's horns; it showed like a long grey streak
extended above the ploughed land; beneath it its legs stuck out like four
rods; you would have said that it did not move them, but only tapped the
earth on the surface, like a swallow kissing the water. Behind it was
dust, behind the dust the dogs; from a distance it seemed that the hare,
the dust, and the dogs blended into one body, as though some great serpent
were winding over the plain; the hare was the head, the dust in the rear
was like a dark blue neck, and the dogs seemed to form a restless double
tail.

The Notary and the Assessor gazed with open mouths, and held their breath.
Suddenly the Notary grew pale as a handkerchief; the Assessor grew pale
too: they saw--something fatal was happening; the farther that serpent
went, the longer it became; it was already breaking in half; already that
neck of dust had vanished; the head was already near the wood, and the
tails somewhere behind! The head disappeared; for one last instant some
one seemed to wave a tassel; it was lost in the wood, and near the wood
the tail broke up.

The poor dogs ran bewildered along the border; they seemed to offer each
other mutual advice and accusations. Finally they came back, slowly
bounding over the furrows, with drooping ears and tails between their
legs; and, running up, for very shame they did not dare to lift their
eyes; and, instead of going to their masters, they stopped on one side.

The Notary drooped his gloomy brow towards his breast; the Assessor
glanced around, but in no merry mood. Then they began to explain to the
audience how their greyhounds were not used to going without leashes, how
the hare had started out suddenly, how it was a poor chase over the
ploughed field, where the dogs ought to have had boots, it was all so
covered with flints and sharp stones.

They learnedly elucidated the matter, as experienced masters of hounds;
from their words the hunters might have profited greatly, but they did not
listen attentively; some began to whistle, others to titter; others,
remembering the bear, talked about that, being still occupied by the
recent hunt.

The Seneschal had hardly once glanced at the hare: seeing that