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The guests had scant time to enjoy the gifts of summer; in vain

they begged the Seneschal to prolong them. Already the

centrepiece, like a planet in its appointed revolution, was

changing the season of the year; already the grain, painted with

gold, had gathered warmth from the room, and was slowly melting;

already the grasses were growing yellow and the leaves were

turning crimson and were falling; you might have said that an

autumn wind was blowing; finally those trees, gorgeous an instant

before, now stood naked, as if they had been stripped by the

winds and the frost; they were sticks of cinnamon, or twigs of

laurel that counterfeited pines, being clad in caraway seeds

instead of needles.

The guests, as they drank their wine, began to tear off the

branches, stumps, and roots, and to chew them as a relish. The

Seneschal walked about the centrepiece, and, full of joy, turned

triumphant eyes upon the guests.

Henryk Dombrowski feigned great amazement, and said:-