The flute was being played by none other than the manager of the state farm himself, Alexander Semyonovich Feight, who, to do him justice, was playing it beautifully.
The fact of the matter was that Alexander Semyonovich had once specialised in the flute.
Right up to 1917 he had played in the well-known concert ensemble of the maestro Petukhov, filling the foyer of the cosy little Magic Dreams cinema in the town of Yekaterinoslav with its sweet notes every evening.
But the great year of 1917, which broke the careers of so many, had swept Alexander Semyonovich onto a new path too.
He left the Magic Dreams and the dusty star-spangled satin of its foyer to plunge into the open sea of war and revolution, exchanging his flute for a death-dealing Mauser.
For a long time he was tossed about on waves which washed him ashore, now in the Crimea, now in Moscow, now in Turkestan, and even in Vladivostok.
It needed the revolution for Alexander Semyonovich to realise his full potential.
It turned out that here was a truly great man, who should not be allowed to waste his talents in the foyer of Magic Dreams, of course.
Without going into unnecessary detail, we shall merely say that the year before, 1927, and the beginning of 1928 had found Alexander Semyonovich in Turkestan where he first edited a big newspaper and then, as a local member of the Supreme Economic Commission, became renowned for his remarkable contribution to the irrigation of Turkestan.
In 1928 Feight came to Moscow and received some well-deserved leave.
The Supreme Commission of the organisation, whose membership card this provincially old-fashioned man carried with honour in his pocket, appreciated his qualities and appointed him to a quiet and honorary post.
Alas and alack!
To the great misfortune of the Republic, Alexander Semyonovich's seething brain did not quieten down. In Moscow Feight learned of Persikov's discovery, and in the rooms of Red Paris in Tverskaya Street Alexander Semyonovich had the brainwave of using the ray to restore the Republic's poultry in a month.
The Animal Husbandry Commission listened to what he had to say, agreed with him, and Feight took his warrant to the eccentric scientist.
The concert over the glassy waters, the grove and the park was drawing to a close, when something happened to cut it short.
The dogs in Kontsovka, who Should have been fast asleep by then, suddenly set up a frenzied barking, which gradually turned into an excruciating general howl.
The howl swelled up, drifting over the fields, and was answered by a high-pitched concert from the million frogs on the ponds.
All this was so ghastly, that for a moment the mysterious enchanted night seemed to fade away.
Alexander Semyonovich put down his flute and went onto the veranda.
"Hear that, Manya?
It's those blasted dogs... What do you think set them off like that?"
"How should I know?" she replied, gazing at the moon.
"Hey, Manya, let's go and take a look at the eggs," Alexander Semyonovich suggested.
"For goodness sake, Alexander Semyonovich. You're darned crazy about those eggs and chickens.
Have a rest for a bit."
"No, Manya, let's go."
A bright light was burning in the conservatory.
Dunya came in too with a burning face and shining eyes.
Alexander Semyonovich opened the observation windows carefully, and they all began peeping into the chambers.
On the white asbestos floor lay neat rows of bright-red eggs with spots on them. There was total silence in the chambers, except for the hissing of the 15,000 candle-power light overhead.
"I'll hatch those chicks out alright!" exclaimed Alexander Semyonovich excitedly, looking now through the observation windows at the side, now through the wide ventilation hatches overhead.
"You'll see.
Eh? Don't you think so?" "You know what, Alexander Semyonovich," said Dunya, smiling. "The men in Kontsovka think you're the Antichrist.
They say your eggs are from the devil.
It's a sin to hatch eggs with machines.
They want to kill you."
Alexander Semyonovich shuddered and turned to his wife.
His face had gone yellow.
"Well, how about that?
Ignorant lot!
What can you do with people like that?
Eh?
We'll have to fix up a meeting for them, Manya. I'll phone the district centre tomorrow for some Party workers.
And I'll give 'em a speech myself.
This place needs a bit of working over alright. Stuck away at the back of beyond..."
"Thick as posts," muttered the guard, who had settled down on his greatcoat in the conservatory doorway.
The next day was heralded by some strange and inexplicable events.
In the early morning, at the first glint of sunlight, the groves, which usually greeted the heavenly body with a strong and unceasing twitter of birds, met it with total silence.
This was noticed by absolutely everybody.
It was like the calm before a storm.