observations by a butterfly with yellow wings that enticingly circled about me. The moment I directed my attention to it, it flew away some two steps from me, hovered above an almost withered white flower of wild clover, and alighted upon it. I do not know whether the sun warmed the butterfly, or whether it was drinking the juice of that flower, — in any case, it was evidently happy there. It now and then flapped its wings and pressed close to the flower; finally it remained perfectly quiet. I put my head on both my hands, and looked with delight at the butterfly.
Suddenly Zhirán began to whine, and he tugged with such strength that I almost fell down. I looked around. At the edge of the forest leaped a hare, one of his ears lying flat and the other standing erect. The blood rushed to my head and I, forgetting myself for the moment, cried something in an unnatural voice, let the dog go, and started to run myself. No sooner had I done that, than I began to feel remorse; the hare squatted, took a leap, and I never saw him again.
But what was my shame when Túrka appeared from behind a bush, in the wake of the hounds that with one voice made for the open! He had seen my mistake (which was that I did not hold out), and, looking contemptuously at me, he said only: "Ah, master!" But you should have heard how he said it! I should have felt better if he had hung me from his saddle like a hare.
I stood long in the same spot in great despair, did not call the dog back, and only kept on repeating, striking my thighs:
"O Lord, what have I done!"
I heard the hounds coursing away; I heard them beating at the other end of the grove, and driving the hare, and Túrka blowing his huge horn and calling the dogs, — but I did not budge.
