s he always did, a plan for the
exchange that was to take place. He was already in the middle of the
subject, when an unexpected movement started at the end of the table; some
were pointing at something that they had noticed, and others were looking
in the same direction, until finally all heads, like ears of grain bent
down by a wind behind them, were turned away from the Chamberlain, to the
corner.

From the corner, where hung the portrait of the late Pantler, the last of
the Horeszko family, from a little door concealed between the pillars, had
quietly come forth a form like a phantom. It was Gerwazy; they recognised
him by his stature, by his face, and by the little silvery Half-Goats on
his yellow coat. He walked straight as a post, silent and grim, without
taking off his hat, without even inclining his head; in his hand he held a
glittering key, like a dagger; he opened a case and began to turn
something in it.

In two corners of the hall, against pillars, stood two musical clocks in
locked cases; the queer old fellows, long at odds with the sun, often
indicated noon at sunset. Gerwazy had not undertaken to repair the
machines, but he would not give up winding them; he turned the key in the
clocks every evening, and the time for winding had just come. While the
Chamberlain was occupying the attention of the parties interested in the
case, he drew up the weight; the rusty wheels gnashed their broken teeth;
the Chamberlain shuddered and interrupted his dissertation. "Brother," he
said, "postpone a bit your faithful toil;" and he went on with his plan of
an exchange; but the Warden, to spite him, pulled still more strongly the
other weight, and suddenly the bullfinch perched on the top of the clock
began to flap its wings and pour forth one of its melodies. The bird,
which had been artistically made, but was, unfortunately, out of order,
began to moan and whistle, ever worse and worse. The guests burst out
laughing; the Chamberlain had to break off again. "My dear Warden," he
cried, "or rather screech owl,95 if you value your beak, quit that
hooting."

But Gerwazy was not at all frightened by the threat; with dignity he put
his right hand on the clock and rested the left on his hip; with both
hands thus supported he cried:--

"My precious Chamberlain, a grandee is free to make jokes. The sparrow is
smaller than the owl, but on its own shavings it is bolder than the owl in
a mansion not its own. A Warden is no owl