One of the boldest ventured to suggest that Crop-Ear had been sent
away in disgrace to another of the Prince's estates.

"Bring him here, I say? Take horses, and don't draw rein going or
coming. I will not stir from this spot until Crop-Ear comes."

With these words, he mounted the barrel, and recommenced ladling
out the wine. Huge fires were made, for the night was falling, and
the cold had become intense. Fresh game was skewered and set to
broil, and the tragic interlude of the revel was soon forgotten.

Towards midnight the sound of hoofs was heard, and the messengers
arrived with Crop-Ear. But, although the latter had lost his ears,
he was not inclined to split his head. The ice, meanwhile, had
become so strong that a cannon-ball would have made no impression
upon it. Crop-Ear simply threw down a stone heavier than himself,
and, as it bounced and slid along the solid floor, said to Prince
Alexis,--


"Am I to go back, Highness, or stay here?"

"Here, my son. Thou'rt a man. Come hither to me."

Taking the serf's head in his hands, he kissed him on both cheeks.
Then he rode homeward through the dark, iron woods, seated astride
on the barrel, and steadying himself with his arms around Crop-
Ear's and Waska's necks.