The Most Dangerous Game 9

The dining room to which Ivan conducted him was in many ways remarkable.There was a medieval magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hallof feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vastrefectory tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat. About thehall were mounted heads of many animals–lions, tigers, elephants,moose, bears; larger or more perfect specimens Rainsford had never seen.At the great table the general was sitting, alone. “You’ll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford,” he suggested. The cocktail wassurpassingly good; and, Rainsford noted, the table apointments were ofthe finest–the linen, the crystal, the silver, the china. They were eating /borsch/, the rich, red soup with whipped cream so dearto Russian palates. Half apologetically General Zaroff said, “We do ourbest to preserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive anylapses. We are well off the beaten track, you know. Do you think thechampagne has suffered from its long ocean trip?” “Not in the least,” declared Rainsford. He was finding the general amost thoughtful and affable host, a true cosmopolite. But there was onesmall trait of .the general’s that made Rainsford uncomfortable.Whenever he looked up from his plate he found the general studying him,appraising him narrowly. “Perhaps,” said General Zaroff, “you were surprised that I recognizedyour name. You see, I read all books on hunting published in English,French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Rains. ford,and it is the hunt.”