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Sperver's face wore a look of supreme indignation; Sebalt's one of bitter irony. The master of the hounds, whose melancholy appearance had struck me during my first days at Nideck, was as thin as a rail; he wore a leather jacket fastened at the waist by a belt, from which hung a hunting-knife with a bone handle; long leather gaiters reached above his knees, and his horn hung at his elbow from a shoulder belt that went from right to left across his chest. On his head was a broad-brimmed hat with a heron's plume in the band, and his profile, terminating in a yellowish beard, suggested that of a goat.
"Yes," continued Sperver; "I have some news for you!"