had felt dreary while he was waiting by the Zemstvo hut, and
now he, too, was thinking of the dead man.

"At the Von Taunitz's," said Startchenko, "they all set upon me when
they heard that you were left to spend the night in the hut, and asked
me why I did not bring you with me."

As they drove out of the village, at the turning the coachman suddenly
shouted at the top of his voice: "Out of the way!"

They caught a glimpse of a man: he was standing up to his knees in
the snow, moving off the road and staring at the horses. The examining
magistrate saw a stick with a crook, and a beard and a bag, and he
fancied that it was Loshadin, and even fancied that he was smiling. He
flashed by and disappeared.

The road ran at first along the edge of the forest, then along a broad
forest clearing; they caught glimpses of old pines and a young birch
copse, and tall, gnarled young oak trees standing singly in the
clearings where the wood had lately been cut; but soon it was all merged
in the clouds of snow. The coachman said he could see the forest; the
examining magistrate could see nothing but the trace horse. The wind
blew on their backs.

All at once the horses stopped.

"Well, what is it now?" asked Startchenko crossly.

The coachman got down from the box without a word and began running
round the sledge, treading on his heels; he made larger and larger
circles, getting further and further away from the sledge, and it looked
as though he were dancing; at last he came back and began to turn off to
the right.

"You've got off the road, eh?" asked Startchenko.

"It's all ri-ight...."

Then there was a little village and not a single light in it. Again the
forest and the fields. Again they lost the road, and again the coachman
got down from the box and danced round the sledge. The sledge flew
along a dark avenue, flew swiftly on. And the heated trace horse's hoofs
knocked against the sledge. Here there was a fearful roaring sound from
the trees, and nothing could be seen, as though they were flying on into
space; and all at once the glaring light at the entrance and the windows
flashed upon their eyes, and they heard the good-natured, drawn-out
barking of dogs. They had arrived.

While they were taking off their fur coats and their felt boots below,
"Un Petit Verre de Clicquot" was being played upon the piano overhead,
and they could hear the children beating time with their feet.
Immediately on going in they were aw