A sense of security and of well-being pervaded Sard to his muddy shoes.
He even curled his fat toes in them with animal contentment.
A little snack before cooking a heavily satisfactory dinner? Certainly.
So he tucked a couple of bottles of beer under one arm, a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese under the other, and waddled out to the veranda door.
At that instant the very heavens echoed with that awful tumult which had first paralysed, then crazed him in the woods.
Bottles, bread, cheese fell from his grasp and his knees nearly collapsed under him. In the bushes on the lake shore he saw animals leaping and racing, but, in his terror, he did not recognise them for dogs.
Then, suddenly, he saw a man, close to the house, running: and another man not far behind. That he understood, and it electrified him into action.
It was too late to escape from the house now. He understood that instantly.
He ran back through the dance-hall and dining-room to the pantry; but he dared not let these intruders hear the noise of hammering.
In an agony of indecision he stood trembling, listening to the infernal racket of the dogs, and waiting for the first footstep within the house.
No step came. But, chancing to look over his shoulder, he saw a man peering through the pantry window at him.