poison does not act so quickly.’

‘Oh, how can you?’ she said. ‘Why, you have taken leave of your

senses!’ ‘Nimfotchka,’ I said, ‘calm yourself, be reasonable….’ But

she suddenly cried, ‘Go away at once with your horrid dog.’ ‘I will

go away,’ said I. ‘At once,’ she said, ‘this second! Get along with

you,’ she said, ‘you villain, and never dare to let me set eyes on you

again. You may go mad yourself!’ ‘Very good,’ said I, ‘only let me

have a carriage for I am afraid to go home on foot now.’ ‘Give him the

carriage, the coach, the chaise, what he likes, only let him be gone

quickly. Oh, what eyes! Oh, what eyes he has!’ and with those words

she whisked out of the room and gave a maid who met her a slap in the

face—and I heard her in hysterics again.

«And you may not believe me, gentlemen, but that very day I broke off

all acquaintance with Nimfodora Semyonovna; on mature consideration of

everything, I am bound to add that for that circumstance, too, I shall

owe a debt of gratitude to my friend Trésor to the hour of my death.

«Well, I had the carriage brought round, put my Trésor in and drove

home. When I got home I looked him over and washed his wounds, and

thought I would take him next day as soon as it was light to the wise

man in the Yefremovsky district. And this wise man was an old peasant,

a wonderful man: he would whisper over some water—and some people

made out that he dropped some snake spittle into it—would give it as

a draught, and the trouble would be gone completely. I thought, by the

way, I would be bled myself at Yefremovo: it’s a good thing as a

precaution against fright, only not from the arm, of course, but from

the falcon.»

«What place is that, the falcon?» Mr. Finoplentov asked with demure

curiosity.

«Why, don’t you know? It is here on the fist near the thumb, the spot

on which one shakes the snuff from one’s horn, just here. It’s the

best place for letting blood. For only consider, the blood from the

arm comes from the vein, but here it is of no consequence. The doctors

don’t know that and don’t understand it, how should they, the idle

drones, the wretched Germans? It’s the blacksmiths who go in for it.

And aren’t they skilful! They get a chisel, give it a tap with a

hammer and it’s done! … Well, while I was thinking it over, it got

quite dark, it was time for bed. I went to bed and Trésor, of course,

was close by me. But whether it was from the fight, from the

stuffiness, from the fleas or from my thoughts, I could not get to

sleep, do what I would! I can’t describe the depression that came over

me; I sipped water, opened the window and played the ‘Kamarinsky’ with

Italian variations on the guitar…. No good! I felt I must get out of

the room—and that was all about it! I made up my mind at last: I took

my pillow, my quilt and my sheet and made my way across the garden to

the hayloft; and settled myself there. And how pleasant I felt in

there, gentlemen: it was a still, still night, only from time to time

a breath of air like a woman’s hand caressed one’s cheek; it was so

fresh; the hay smelt as sweet as tea; among the apple trees’ the

grasshoppers were chirping; then all at once came the cry of the

quail—and one felt that he, too, the rogue, was happy, sitting in the

dew with his little lady…. And the sky was magnificent…. The stars

were glowing, or a cloud would float by, white as cotton wool,

scarcely moving….»

At this point in the story Skvorevitch sneezed; Kinarevitch sneezed,

too—he never failed in anything to follow his colleague’s example.

Anton Stepanitch looked approvingly at both of them.

«Well,» Porfiry Kapitonitch went on, «well, so I lay there and again

could not go to sleep. I fell to musing, and what I thought of most

was the strangeness of it all: how correctly Prohoritch had explained

it as a warning and I wondered why it was to me such marvels had

happened…. I marvelled—particularly because I could make nothing of

it—and Trésor kept whining, as he twisted round in the hay; his

wounds hurt him. And I will tell you what else prevented me from

sleeping—you won’t believe it—the moon. It was just facing me, so

big and round and yellow and flat, and it seemed to me that it was

staring at me, it really did. And so insolently, so persistently…. I

put out my tongue at it at last, I really did. What are you so

inquisitive about? I thought. I turned away from it and it seemed to

be creeping into my ear and shining on the back of my head, so that I

felt caught in it as in rain; I opened my eyes and every blade of

grass, every paltry being in the hay, the most flimsy spider’s web—all

were standing out as though they were chiselled! As though asking

to be looked at! There was no help for it: I leaned my head on my hand

and began gazing. And I couldn’t help it: would you believe it: my

eyes bulged out like a hare’s; they opened so wide—as though they did

not know what sleep was! It seemed as though I would devour it all

with my eyes. The doors of the barn were wide open; I could see for

four miles into the open country, distinctly and yet not, as it always

is on a moonlight night. I gazed and gazed without blinking…. And

all at once it seemed as though something were moving, far, far

away … like a faint glimmer in the distance. A little time passed:

again the shadow stirred—now a little nearer; then again nearer still.

‘What can it be?’ I wondered, ‘a hare, no,’ I thought, ‘it is bigger

than a hare and its action is not the same.’ I looked, and again the

shadow came in sight, and was moving across the grazing meadow (the

meadow looked whitish in the moonlight) like a big blur; it was clear

that it was a wild animal, a fox or a wolf. My heart seemed to stand

still … though one might wonder why I was frightened. All sorts of

wild creatures run about the fields at night. But curiosity was even

stronger than fear. I sat up, I opened my eyes wide and I turned cold

all over. I felt frozen, as though I had been thrust into the ice, up

to my ears, and why? The Lord only knows! And I saw the shadow growing

and growing, so it was running straight towards the barn. And I began

to realise that it certainly was a wild beast, big, with a huge

head…. He flew like a whirlwind, like a bullet…. Holy saints! what

was it? He stopped all at once, as though he scented something…. Why

it was … the same mad dog! It was … it was! Heavens! And I could

not stir, I could not cry out…. It darted to the doors, with

glittering eyes, howled and dashed through the hay straight at me!

«Out of the hay like a lion leapt my Trésor, here he was. They hung on

to each other’s jaws and rolled on the ground. What happened then I

don’t remember; all I remember is that I flew headlong between them

into the garden, and home and into my bedroom and almost crept under

the bed—why not make a clean breast of it? And what leaps, what

bounds I took in the garden! The prémiere danseuse dancing

before the Emperor Napoleon on his nameday couldn’t have kept pace

with me. However, when I had recovered myself a little, I roused the

whole household; I ordered them all to arm themselves, I myself took a

sword and a revolver (I bought that revolver, I must own, soon after

the emancipation, you know, in case anything should happen, but it

turned out the man who sold it was such a rogue—it would be sure to

miss fire twice out of every three shots). Well, I took all this and

so we went, a regular horde of us with stakes and lanterns, to the

barn. We approached and called—there was not a sound; at last we went

into the barn…. And what did we see? My poor Trésor lay dead with

his throat torn open, and of the other, the damned brute, not a trace

to be seen!

«And then, gentlemen, I howled like a calf and I am not ashamed to say

so; I stooped down to the friend who had saved my life twice over and

kissed his head, again and again. And I stayed in that position until

my old housekeeper, Praskovya (she, too, had run in at the uproar),

brought me to my senses. ‘How can you, Porfiry Kapitonitch,’ she said,

‘distress yourself so about a dog? And you will catch cold, too, God

forbid.’ (I was very lightly clad.) ‘And if this dog has lost his life

in saving you, it may be taken as a great blessing vouchsafed him!’

«Though I did not agree with Praskovya, I went home. And next day a

soldier of the garrison shot the mad dog. And it must have been its

destined end: it was the first time in his life that the soldier had

fired a gun, though he had a medal for service in 1812. So this was

the supernatural incident that happened to me.»

The speaker ceased and began filling his pipe. We all looked at each

other in amazement.

«Well, perhaps, you have led a very virtuous life,» Mr. Finoplentov

began, «so in recompense…»

But he broke off at that word, for he saw Porfiry Kapitonitch’s cheeks

grow round and flushed while his eyes screwed up—he was on the point

of breaking into a guffaw.

«But if one admits the possibility of the supernatural, the

possibility of its participation in everyday life, so to say,» Anton

Stepanitch began again, «then allow me to ask, what