“It was after a hunting dinner, at which there were no fewer red uniforms at the table than black frock coats. Due to the presence of the military, the conversation over cigars gradually turned to horses and riders, they began to remember the extraordinary races when the fox led a pack through the whole county and only two or three limping hounds and a foot huntsman overtook it, because all the riders had their butts beaten off . The more often our glasses were filled with port, the longer and more fantastic the races became, and in the end, according to some stories, the Vizhlyatniks climbed to such a distance that, when asking for directions, they could not understand the language in which people answered them. And the foxes also began to behave strangely, and some of them even ended up on the branches of trimmed willows. Others were pulled out by their tails from feeding troughs in the stables, and still others, running through an open door, hid themselves in cardboard for ladies’ hats...”