What on earth had got into those blasted dogs no one could say.

An unpleasant surprise awaited Alexander Semyonovich the next morning.

The guard was extremely upset and kept putting his hands on his heart, swearing that he had not fallen asleep but had noticed nothing.

"I can't understand it," the guard insisted. "It's through no fault of mine, Comrade Feight."

"Very grateful to you, I'm sure," retorted Alexander Semyonovich heatedly. "What do you think, comrade? Why were you put on guard? To keep an eye on things. So tell me where they are. They've hatched out, haven't they?

So they must have run away. That means you must have left the door open and gone off somewhere. Get me those chickens!"

"Where could I have gone? I know my job." The guard took offence.

"Don't you go accusing me unfairly, Comrade Feight!"

"Then where are they?"

"How the blazes should I know!" the guard finally exploded. "I'm not supposed to guard them, am I? Why was I put on duty? To see that nobody pinched the chambers, and that's what I've done. Your chambers are safe and sound. But there's no law that says I must chase after your chickens.

Goodness only knows what they'll be like. Maybe you won't be able to catch them on a bicycle."

This somewhat deflated Alexander Semyonovich. He muttered something else, then relapsed into a state of perplexity. It was a strange business indeed. In the first chamber, which had been switched on before the others, the two eggs at the very base of the ray had broken open. One of them had even rolled to one side. The empty shell was lying on the asbestos floor in the ray.

"The devil only knows," muttered Alexander Semyonovich. "The windows are closed and they couldn't have flown away over the roof, could they?"

He threw back his head and looked at some big holes in the glass roof.

"Of course, they couldn't, Alexander Semyonovich!" exclaimed Dunya in surprise. "Chickens can't fly. They must be here somewhere. Chuck, chuck, chuck," she called, peering into the corners of the conservatory, which were cluttered with dusty flower pots, bits of boards and other rubbish. But no chicks answered her call.

The whole staff spent about two hours running round the farmyard, looking for the runaway chickens and found nothing. The day passed in great excitement. The duty guard on the chambers was reinforced by the watchman, who had strict orders to look through the chamber windows every quarter of an hour and call Alexander Semyonovich if anything happened. The guard sat huffily by the door, holding his rifle between his knees. What with all the worry Alexander Semyonovich did not have lunch until nearly two. After lunch he slept for an hour or so in the cool shade on the former She-remetev ottoman, had a refreshing drink of the farm's kvass and slipped into the conservatory to make sure everything was alright. The old watchman was lying on his stomach on some bast matting and staring through the observation window of the first chamber. The guard was keeping watch by the door.

But there was a piece of news: the eggs in the third chamber, which had been switched on last, were making a kind of gulping, hissing sound, as if something inside them were whimpering.

"They're hatching out alright," said Alexander Semyonovich. "That's for sure. See?" he said to the watchman.

"Aye, it's most extraordinary," the latter replied in a most ambiguous tone, shaking his head.

Alexander Semyonovich squatted by the chambers for a while, but nothing hatched out. So he got up, stretched and announced that he would not leave the grounds, but was going for a swim in the pond and must be called if there were any developments. He went into the palace to his bedroom with its two narrow iron bedsteads, rumpled bedclothes and piles of green apples and millet on the floor for the newly-hatched chickens, took a towel and, on reflection, his flute as well to play at leisure over the still waters.