And the horn sounded again. Not a bright, cheerful note with sunshine and fresh air and the dappled leaves of the forest in it; something wilder, colder, far more terrible. The horn of Zamiel!

I heard the secretary scuttle across the floor and draw the curtain.

“Leave it, fool!” snarled the count.

“But I heard—”

“Hush!” said Count Karlstein.

And again—but closer now, only a league or two distant, perhaps, and so high up it could only have come from the bare chilly wilderness of the sky itself—again, the horn. And a rumble, like the first mutter of thunder: hoofbeats?

“Zamiel,” said the count, and there was horror in his voice. “Surely not…It’s my heart, how it’s racing! Come here, Snivelwurst, put your hand on my chest, feel my heart—can you feel it? Can you feel it racing?”

“Oh, indeed, beating like a drum, your grace. That’s what it is—not a shadow of doubt. Best lie down, Count Karlstein—a glass of brandy—”

“What’s the matter with me?” said the count, and now there was an angry puzzlement in his voice. “Calm down! Stop panicking—control yourself…there’s nothing wrong….”

I’d twisted round, so that by lifting up the count’s cloak just a little I could see from beneath it. Snivelwurst was helping him to the chair, looking white in the face himself. But the count looked dreadful; his face was suffused with darkness, his eyes stared wildly, his hands clutched convulsively at the arms of the chair—and I swear I could see his hair bristling on the top of his head. I’ve never seen such a picture of mortal fear; it made my skin crawl.

And outside…

The count flung Snivelwurst aside, and the little rat-like man fell to the floor, twisting as he fell, and wriggled out of reach. Count Karlstein rose from the chair and rushed to the window, shielding his face, and then turned aside swiftly and stood with his back pressed against the wall.

“After all, he’s bound to make some sort of noise…” he said, quickly and almost under his breath, as if he was trying to reassure himself. “He wouldn’t hunt silently, would he…? But why come this way? Surely he should go back to the Brocken, when he’s hunted? He must have found them now—it’s after midnight—”