before him seemed an extended pleasure-trip.

All that morning and noon he was deep in calculations of how many
versts he had travelled, how many remained to the next stage, how many
to the next town, to the place where he would dine, to the place where
he would drink tea, and to Stavropol, and what fraction of the whole
journey was already accomplished. He also calculated how much money he
had with him, how much would be left over, how much would pay off all
his debts, and what proportion of his income he would spend each month.
Towards evening, after tea, he calculated that to Stavropol there still
remained seven-elevenths of the whole journey, that his debts would
require seven months' economy and one-eighth of his whole fortune; and
then, tranquillized, he wrapped himself up, lay down in the sledge, and
again dozed off. His imagination was now turned to the future: to the
Caucasus. All his dreams of the future were mingled with pictures of
Amalat-Beks, Circassian women, mountains, precipices, terrible
torrents, and perils. All these things were vague and dim, but the love
of fame and the danger of death furnished the interest of that future.
Now, with unprecedented courage and a strength that amazed everyone, he
slew and subdued an innumerable host of hillsmen; now he was himself a
hillsman and with them was maintaining their independence against the
Russians. As soon as he pictured anything definite, familiar Moscow
figures always appeared on the scene. Sashka B---fights with the
Russians or the hillsmen against him. Even the tailor Cappele in some
strange way takes part in the conqueror's triumph. Amid all this he
remembered his former humiliations, weaknesses, and mistakes, and the
recollection was not disagreeable. It was clear that there among the
mountains, waterfalls, fair Circassians, and dangers, such mistakes
could not recur. Having once made full confession to himself there was
an end of it all. One other vision, the sweetest of them all, mingled
with the young man's every thought of the future--the vision of a woman.

And there, among the mountains, she appeared to his imagination as a
Circassian slave, a fine figure with a long plait of hair and deep
submissive eyes. He pictured a lonely hut in the mountains, and on the
threshold she stands awaiting him when, tired and covered with dust,
blood, and fame, he returns to her. He is conscious of her kisses, her
shoulders, her sweet voice, and her submissive