'It is even so!' chimed in the attendant, who had been silent hitherto, not daring to repeat all these awful incantations. 'Going to the sea, and returning to the sea, I am a Nomad--' 'Yea, verily--' 'Ye like dark reindeer, ye like dappled reindeer; have they ceased to be pleasing?' 'Have they ceased?' 'Ha! Ha! Ha! When you dance, do you forget us, and being merry, do you shun us?' 'Is it, perhaps, rich furs, silver, glass ornaments, coloured dresses, sweet cakes, or vodka that you desire?' 'That cannot be!' exclaimed the attendant. 'Fools! Something, were it even everything, must be taken for the powerful!' 'Therefore choose a young girl from among us, and we will dedicate her.' There was silence. 'Oh, fiery Goloron, feared on the earth, proclaiming--' Again there was silence. Oltungaba beat the drum, and the strokes rolled like thunder between the awful words, which, uttered haltingly, seemed to come from a distance. 'They give the scraps to the dogs! Let the people humble themselves, and an obedient man be found; otherwise they will fade like the morning mist.' 'O-oh! How can we possibly give anything, possessing nothing?' 'I will therefore tell you how it was in former days. Let it be he who is proud, he who is rich, whose sons are famed for their shooting, and daughters for their beauty; whom all love, whose thoughts are kind, and counsels wise, whose heart is brave, whose hand is open, whose soul seeks good. We wish to see the bewildered terror, the pale face, the tears of separation.' Oltungaba became silent, and let the drum fall. 'No!' he said, after a moment's reflection, 'I will not disclose the name; possibly they may say; "Oltungaba is jealous." Yet what is human blood to me? A shaman needs nothing but his drum.--I have said everything.' He concluded the rest of the ceremony rapidly, and took his place among the spectators, gloomy and exhausted. Tea was offered to him and the more honoured guests. The young men began to kill reindeer for the others, and to put the cauldron on the fire without delay. Yet none of this was accompanied by the gaiety and animation which usually prevails among the Tungus on such occasions. Those present talked with great restraint, lowering their voices almost to a whisper. They behaved with marked politeness to the family of Seltichan, and took pains not even to look at their host. Seltichan was as calm and friendly as usual, as if he had not noticed anything, and even tried to start a conversation with Oltungaba. But the shaman preserved a gloomy silence. Then Seltichan began to relate aloud how he had spent that year beyond the mountains, throwing in various hunting anecdotes which he told with so much humour that he was soon surrounded by cheered and even smiling faces. Only his favourite son, Miore, who was standing behind him, looked gloomily at everyone.