"Yes," said Milena, smiling.
"Well, once upon a time, there was a man who had three dogs: the first was called Catch-it-quick; the second, Bring-it-back; and the third, I-know-better. Now, one morning this man got up very early to go out hunting, so he called Catch-it-quick, Bring-it-back, and —and—how stupid I am! now I've forgotten the name of the other dog. Well, I said I wasn't good in telling stories; what was it?"
"I-know-better," interrupted Milena.
"No doubt you do, my dear, so perhaps you'll continue the story yourself, as you know better."
Everybody laughed, and the gloom that had come over the company after the bard's story was now dispelled.
"Radonic is late; I'm afraid, Milena, if you went back home, you'd have to prepare a stake for him," said Markovic. Then, turning to the bard: "Come, Stoyan, give us another pisma."
"Yes, but something merry," interrupted Tripko; "tell us some verses about the great Kraglievic."
The bard, contrary to his wont, was sipping his glass of slivovitz very slowly; he now finished it and said:
"I'll try, though, to tell you the truth, I'm rather out of sorts this evening; I really don't know why. There is an echo, as if of a crime, in the slightest noise, a smell of blood in every gust of wind. Do you not hear anything? Well, perhaps, I am mistaken."
Everyone looked at one another wistfully, for they all knew that old
Stoyan was something of a prophet.