Nikolay dismounted, and when Natasha and Petya had ridden up he stood with them near the hounds waiting to hear how things had turned out. The huntsman who had been involved in the row soon came riding out of the bushes with the fox tied to the back of his saddle, and rode over to his young master. He had doffed his cap some way off and was making every effort to be polite, but he was as white as a sheet and gasping for breath, and fury was written all over his face. He had a black eye, though he seemed not to be aware of it.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Nikolay.
‘Well, ’e was going to finish off our fox! And ’twas my bitch that caught it – the mouse-coloured one. I’ll swing for him! Pinching my fox! Let ’im have it, I did – ’im and ’is fox. Here ’tis on my saddle. D’you want some of this?’ said the huntsman, pointing to his hunting-knife, apparently under the delusion that he was still talking to his enemy.
Nikolay wasted no more words on this man; telling his sister and Petya to wait there, he rode over to the place where the enemy hunt, under Ilagin, had collected.
The victorious Rostov huntsman rode over to join the others, and there, to a crowd of sympathetic and curious admirers, he recounted his noble deed.
The facts were clear. Ilagin, with whom the Rostovs were conducting a dispute that had gone to law, was hunting in places that belonged by custom to the Rostovs, and had now – deliberately, it seemed – sent his men to the very area where the Rostovs were hunting, and then allowed his man to snatch a fox being chased by other people’s dogs.
Nikolay had never set eyes on Ilagin, but, never a man for half-measures when it came to judgements and feelings and having heard that their neighbour was an obstinate brute, he loathed him with every fibre of his being and considered him his bitterest foe. All worked up and spitting with rage, he was now on his way to have things out with him, clenching his riding-crop and ready for anything as long as it involved decisive action against his enemy.
He had scarcely emerged from the edge of the wood when he saw a stout gentleman in a beaver cap coming towards him on a splendid black horse, accompanied by two grooms. This was no enemy. Nikolay found Ilagin to be an impressive gentleman of great courtesy who seemed particularly anxious to make the young count’s acquaintance. Ilagin raised his beaver cap as he approached, apologized profusely for what had occurred, said he would have the man punished for hunting someone else’s fox, hoped that they could now become better acquainted and offered him the use of his own land for hunting on.
Natasha had followed on not far behind her brother, worried that his blood was up and he might do something terrible, but when she saw the two enemies exchanging friendly greetings she rode straight over to them. Ilagin raised his beaver cap even higher to Natasha, gave her the most affable of smiles and said the countess was worthy of Diana both in her love of hunting and in her beauty, of which he had heard so much.
By way of atonement for his huntsman’s offence, Ilagin persuaded Rostov to ride up to his high land less than a mile away, which he preserved for his own shooting; it was, as he put it, swarming with hares. Nikolay consented, and the hunting party, swollen to twice its size, set off again. Their way led across several fields. The huntsmen fell back to move in line, while the gentry rode together. ‘Uncle’, Rostov and Ilagin kept stealing the odd furtive glance at each other’s dogs, trying not to be noticed as they did so, and looking anxiously for any rivals that might outrun their own dogs.
Rostov was particularly struck by the beauty of one small and slender animal, a thoroughbred black-and-tan bitch belonging to Ilagin, with muscles like steel, a delicate muzzle and prominent black eyes. He had heard that Ilagin’s dogs were a spirited lot, and in this handsome bitch he saw a rival to his Milka.
Ilagin started talking in a desultory way about this year’s harvest, and in mid-conversation Nikolay pointed to the black-and-tan bitch.
‘Nice bitch you have there!’ he said casually. ‘Is she a good mover?’
‘That one? Oh yes, she’s a good dog. Catches the odd hare,’ Ilagin said in a voice that suggested indifference, though only a year ago he had given a neighbour three families of house serfs for Yerza, the black-and-tan bitch who was now his. ‘So your people are none too pleased with the yield, then, Count,’ he went on, resuming their previous conversation. And since it was only polite to return the young count’s compliment, Ilagin had a good look at his dogs and settled on Milka, with her strikingly broad back.
‘Now there’s a splendid dog – the black-and-white one!’ he said.
