Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART TWO CHAPTER 15
Chapter 15
THE place fixed on for the stand-shooting was not far above a stream in a little
aspen copse. On reaching the copse, Levin got out of the trap and led Oblonsky
to a corner of a mossy, swampy glade, already quite free from snow. He went back
himself to a double birch tree on the other side, and leaning his gun on the fork of a
dead lower branch, he took off his full overcoat, fastened his belt again, and worked
his arms to see if they were free.
Gray old Laska, who had followed them, sat down warily opposite him and
pricked up her ears. The sun was setting behind a thick forest, and in the glow of
sunset the birch trees, dotted about in the aspen copse, stood out clearly with their
hanging twigs, and their buds swollen almost to bursting.
From the thickest parts of the copse, where the snow still remained, came the faint
sound of narrow winding threads of water running away. Tiny birds twittered, and
now and then fluttered from tree to tree.
In the pauses of complete stillness there came the rustle of last year’s leaves, stirred
by the thawing of the earth and the growth of the grass.
“Imagine! One can hear and see the grass growing!” Levin said to himself, noticing
a wet, slate-colored aspen leaf moving beside a blade of young grass. He stood,
listened, and gazed sometimes down at the wet mossy ground, sometimes at Laska
listening all alert, sometimes at the sea of bare tree tops that stretched on the slope
below him, sometimes at the darkening sky, covered with white streaks of cloud.
A hawk flew high over a forest far away with slow sweep of its wings; another
flew with exactly the same motion in the same direction and vanished. The birds
twittered more and more loudly and busily in the thicket. An owl hooted not far off,
and Laska, starting, stepped cautiously a few steps forward, and putting her head
on one side, began to listen intently. Beyond the stream was heard the cuckoo. Twice
she uttered her usual cuckoo call, and then gave a hoarse, hurried call and broke
down.
“Imagine! the cuckoo already!” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, coming out from behind
a bush.
“Yes, I hear it,” answered Levin, reluctantly breaking the stillness with his voice,
which sounded disagreeable to himself. “Now it’s coming!”
Stepan Arkadyevitch’s figure again went behind the bush, and Levin saw nothing
but the bright flash of a match, followed by the red glow and blue smoke of a
cigarette.
“Tchk! tchk!” came the snapping sound of Stepan Arkadyevitch cocking his gun.
“What’s that cry?” asked Oblonsky, drawing Levin’s attention to a prolonged cry,
as though a colt were whinnying in a high voice, in play.
“Oh, don’t you know it? That’s the hare. But enough talking! Listen, it’s flying!”
almost shrieked Levin, cocking his gun.
They heard a shrill whistle in the distance, and in the exact time, so well known
to the sportsman, two seconds later– another, a third, and after the third whistle the
hoarse, guttural cry could be heard.
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