CHAPTER XIII.
THE HUNT.
Early next morning the hunting-horns awoke the guests.

Those who had gone to sleep thinking of hunting, and had dreamt of hunting, at once sprang to their feet at that joyous sound.

The others, who would gladly have compounded with themselves for an extra half-hour and allowed their heavy eyelids just one more little snooze, were violently thwarted in their inclinations by the ever-increasing racket which suddenly dominated Karpathy Castle; for the bustling to and fro of heavy boots, the sound of familiar voices in the halls and parlours, the baying of dogs in the courtyard, the cracking of whips, and the neighing of horses would have sufficed to disturb the sweet slumbers of the Seven Sleepers themselves.

But what is the use of expecting moderation or discretion from sportsmen?
The most exquisite of drawing-room dandies, when he prepares him for the chase, puts on quite another character with his hunting boots and cap, and considers himself justified in making as much row as possible, and bawls in a voice that is quite different to his own.
Day had scarcely dawned when the fully dressed guests came into the hall to show themselves and have a look at the weather.

The more original young bucks were dressed in coats with large flapping sleeves, vests with broad flat buttons, and velvet caps with crane's feathers; the elegants, on the other hand, affected tightly fitting dolmans and spiral hats; only the buffoon, Count Gregory, was got up, _a l'Anglaise_, in a red cut-away coat, and piteously begged every one to explain to the dogs that he was not the fox.
Most of the ladies were also in hunting attire, the close-clinging bodices exhibiting to admiration their amazonian figures; while the long trains had to be held up, lest the spurred and booted heroes around them should trample ruthlessly thereon.