the bitter taste, his nose of the smell of powder and
stagnant water, his ears were ringing with the incessant whir of
the snipe; he could not touch the stock of his gun, it was so
hot; his heart beat with short, rapid throbs; his hands shook
with excitement, and his weary legs stumbled and staggered over
the hillocks and in the swamp, but still he walked on and still
he shot. At last, after a disgraceful miss, he flung his gun and
his hat on the ground.

"No, I must control myself," he said to himself. Picking up his
gun and his hat, he called Laska, and went out of the swamp.
When he got on to dry ground he sat down, pulled off his boot and
emptied it, then walked to the marsh, drank some stagnant-tasting
water, moistened his burning hot gun, and washed his face and
hands. Feeling refreshed, he went back to the spot where a snipe
had settled, firmly resolved to keep cool.

He tried to be calm, but it was the same again. His finger
pressed the cock before he had taken a good aim at the bird. It
got worse and worse.

He had only five birds in his game-bag when he walked out of the
marsh towards the alders where he was to rejoin Stepan
Arkadyevitch.

Before he caught sight of Stepan Arkadyevitch he saw his dog.
Krak darted out from behind the twisted root of an alder, black
all over with the stinking mire of the marsh, and with the air of
a conqueror sniffed at Laska. Behind Krak there came into view
in the shade of the alder tree the shapely figure of Stepan
Arkadyevitch. He came to meet him, red and perspiring, with
unbuttoned neckband, still limping in the same way.

"Well? You have been popping away!" he said, smiling
good-humoredly.

"How have you got on?" queried Levin. But there was no need to
ask, for he had already seen the full game bag.

"Oh, pretty fair."

He had fourteen birds.

"A splendid marsh! I've no doubt Veslovsky got in your way.
It's awkward too, shooting with one dog," said Stepan
Arkadyevitch, to soften his triumph.

Chapter 11

When Levin and Stepan Arkadyevitch reached the peasant's hut
where Levin always used to stay, Veslovsky was already there. He
was sitting in the middle of the hut, clinging with both hands to
the bench from which he was being pulled by a soldier, the
brother of the peasant's wife, who was helping him off with his
miry boots. Veslovsky was laughing his infectious, good-humored
laugh.

"I've only just come. _Ils ont ete charmants_. Just