There were plovers, handsomest of birds, in their golden spring raiment. And, last and best, there was snipe, queen of the marshes, and the finest and hardest of shots; the jack snipe, smaller than a lark, which has blue and green stripes; the common snipe, which is about the size of a quail, and amazingly timid, and the great snipe, rarest of all, which is as big as a partridge. With their plaintive, hoarse cry they fly in disconcerting zig-zags at an incredible speed. You aim to the right and when the wind has blown away the smoke you see the little grey bird vanishing in the dim distance on the left. In the midst of these Hanoverian marshes, so like our marshes of the Landes, Aurora of Lautenburg was even more beautiful than in all her finery at the palace. Wearing a feather toque and huge but shapely top-boots, she jumped as lightly as a bird over the sodden turf. The yellow mist of that water-laden atmosphere seemed to cast a pale mauve halo about her. Marçais shot calmly and well. Little Hagen was fussy and always fired too soon. I was a much better shot than either of these two, but what a poor figure I cut beside the Grand Duchess! Leaving us the rail and duck, she devoted her attention exclusively to the snipe. Gradually night came down on the watery waste. The sky turned to burnished copper in a last conflagration. The great pools were sheets of green which grew darker and darker. A thin tongue of flame began to leap from the barrel of our guns every time we fired, a tongue which became redder as the darkness grew more intense. It was the Grand Duchess's hour. Her diabolical spaniel was everywhere at once. We could hear the snipe start up before her and her repeated cries of "Heel!" Neither Marçais, Hagen nor I could see them at all. But Aurora saw them all right; each of her shots brought down a little grey bird. We would wait for a second. Then out of the darkness came the sound of rustling grass. The spaniel, dripping, black and shining, with his eyes full of phosphorus, suddenly appeared, bearing the dead snipe to his mistress. It was now quite dark. In the low sky an invisible procession of cranes passed over our heads, with remote, raucous cries. The Grand Duchess took the bird from her dog. We went up. I saw her run her fingers over the poor little body, still warm. No wound could be seen, nothing to reveal the presence of that tiny ball of lead, or the imperceptible black hole whence that little life had fled. Then, with that inconsequence which is the hallmark of the sportsman, Aurora raised the inert little head to her lips and kissed it. VI