The beaters, in ranks, made a glaring red patch in the moist green atmosphere.

The hunters, men and women, all dismounted, in scarlet coats and black hats, crowded together.

Apart, the saddle and tackle horses snorted, with creaking of leather and jingle of metal.

Kept at a respectful distance by a rope extended hastily on posts, the inquisitive crowd flowed and increased every instant.
The blood which issued from the little fawn made a widening pool, and one saw the ladies of the hunt, who came to look as near as possible, pluck up their habits so that they would not tread in it.

The sight of the great stag crushed by weariness, gradually drooping his branching head, tormented by the howls of the hounds which the whipper-in held back with difficulty, and that of the little one, cowering beside him and dying with gaping throat, would have been touching had one given way to sentiment.
I noticed that the imminent slaying of the stag excited a certain curious fever.