gust of wind
that blew against the front of the sledge, bending it and lashing the
snow against it. He raised himself and looked round. All he could see
through the whirling darkness was Mukhorty's dark head, his back covered
by the fluttering drugget, and his thick knotted tail; while all round,
in front and behind, was the same fluctuating whity darkness, sometimes
seeming to get a little lighter and sometimes growing denser still.

'A pity I listened to Nikita,' he thought. 'We ought to have driven on.
We should have come out somewhere, if only back to Grishkino and stayed
the night at Taras's. As it is we must sit here all night. But what was
I thinking about? Yes, that God gives to those who take trouble, but not
to loafers, lie-abeds, or fools. I must have a smoke!'

He sat down again, got out his cigarette-case, and stretched himself
flat on his stomach, screening the matches with the skirt of his coat.
But the wind found its way in and put out match after match. At last
he got one to burn and lit a cigarette. He was very glad that he had
managed to do what he wanted, and though the wind smoked more of the
cigarette than he did, he still got two or three puffs and felt more
cheerful. He again leant back, wrapped himself up, started reflecting
and remembering, and suddenly and quite unexpectedly lost consciousness
and fell asleep.

Suddenly something seemed to give him a push and awoke him. Whether
it was Mukhorty who had pulled some straw from under him, or whether
something within him had startled him, at all events it woke him, and
his heart began to beat faster and faster so that the sledge seemed to
tremble under him. He opened his eyes. Everything around him was just
as before. 'It looks lighter,' he thought. 'I expect it won't be long
before dawn.' But he at once remembered that it was lighter because the
moon had risen. He sat up and looked first at the horse. Mukhorty still
stood with his back to the wind, shivering all over. One side of the
drugget, which was completely covered with snow, had been blown back,
the breeching had slipped down and the snow-covered head with its waving
forelock and mane were now more visible. Vasili Andreevich leant over
the back of the sledge and looked behind. Nikita still sat in the same
position in which he had settled himself. The sacking with which he was
covered, and his legs, were thickly covered with snow.

'If only that peasant doesn't freeze to death! His cloth