Sylva

But though she was appeased, the presence of the belt continued to worry her. She constantly tugged at it, fiddled with the buckle-but always in vain-until finally she seemed to get used to it. However, the room once more began to smell like a menagerie, and when on the following Friday I found my gentle Sylva tamed at last, it was time to start all over again. I took advantage of a moment when she was busy sucking clean the carcass of a chicken, with her back turned to me, and quickly hooked the chain onto the belt without her even noticing it at first. But when she saw me open door and window, she jumped to her feet and, feeling herself held back, began to struggle as before, albeit a trifle less frantically and never ceasing to watch my every move. So much so that hearing me say soothingly over and over again, “Come now… come… keep still… you know I’ll unfasten you presently…” she eventually did keep quiet, just pulling obstinately at her belt with both hands. I aired the bedding and dragged the carpets outside. I was about to spread them out on the grass when I heard the thud of a soft fall behind me. And turning around, I saw Sylva, still on all fours, straightening up in the polyanthus bed at the foot of the house. She was no sooner on her feet than she reached the hedgerow in three bounds. I was paralyzed with surprise. She was wearing her woolen chemise, but the belt had gone: had she, by dint of fiddling with it and with the aid of chance, succeeded in undoing the buckle? It was a bit late in the day to worry about that. Before I had recovered my wits, she had jumped over the fence and was streaking toward the woods with the swiftness of a doe. I rushed after her, shouting her name, but I did not run half as fast as she. Like a wisp of smoke she had vanished in the forest before I was halfway across the field.

For a long time I called her name among the trees with a kind of despair, for I knew only too well that she would not answer and that trying to find her again in the undergrowth was a hopeless endeavor. Nevertheless I returned to the farm, saddled a horse, and set out on a one-man hunt through the woods, furiously keeping on till nightfall. I flushed a number of animals and among them a fox, but a bigger and older one than Sylva had been before her transformation; it was grayer, too, and I did not pursue it. However, the fact that the idea had occurred to me even for a moment showed that a miracle in reverse would not actually have surprised me, that I even expected perhaps to discover her in this guise. Simultaneously, I had to confess that my attachment for her was no less ambiguous than herself. In whatever shape I would have found her again-animal or human-I was prepared to give thanks to heaven with the same grateful heart.

I rode home only when the moon rose, deeply disheartened and deeply troubled, too. The room seemed lugubrious to me-cold and deserted. If I don’t find her again, I told myself, I’ll take a wife. I have forgotten how to live all alone. I’ll marry Dorothy. But now the idea of letting any creature other than my vixen into this room filled me with a sort of revolt and with the feeling, both strange and unbearable, of an impossible breach of faith. Like a widower who, with his wife hardly cold in her grave, was already toying with the unseemly idea of marrying again. And all this for a vixen! The thought left me aghast and distressed. The truth was, if at that moment I had been obliged to choose between marrying the most beautiful girl in Britain or finding my vixen again even in her original form, I believe I would not have wavered for an instant… One can gather from this the degree my obsession had reached at the end of an exhausting chase.

Chapter 10

THE next day was a Saturday, and there was a meet scheduled. I saddled my horse again and scoured the woods all day, trembling whenever I heard the distant clamor of hounds and horn. Toward evening I went all the way up to the inn to have a beer at the public bar where I hoped to gather news, yet dreaded to hear it. How could I have dared mention Sylva’s escape and my fear that she might have changed back into an animal of the chase? Fortunately they had been after a stag and left the foxes alone. Nor did anyone talk of a mysterious girl, whom I would have had some trouble to claim without first mentioning her escape… If I found her again, I vowed to myself I would introduce her to all my friends in the village, so as to prevent my getting caught another time in such an absurd predicament.

I returned to the manor with a somewhat easier heart. But I was thinking: This is only a momentary respite; if I cannot lay my hands on Sylva soon, the outcome is bound to be dramatic, whether she is run to earth in one shape or the other. I thought of asking to join in the fox hunt, despite my convictions about the sport.