angrily; "you could have
returned, taken some tea and slept till morning; the storm would have
been over, and we could then have set out. Why this haste? as if you
were going to your wedding?"

Saveliitch was right. What was to be done? The snow continued to fall;
it was heaped up around the kibitka; the horses stood motionless, now
and then shivering. The coachman walked around them adjusting their
harness, as if he had nothing else to do.

Saveliitch grumbled.

I strained my eyes in every direction, hoping to see signs of a
dwelling, or of a road, but I could only see the whirling of the
snow-drift. All at once I thought I saw some thing black. "Halloo!
coachman," I cried out, "what is that black thing yonder?"

The coachman looked attentively where I indicated. "God knows, my lord,"
he replied, re-mounting to his seat; "it is not a kibitka, nor a tree;
it seems to be moving. It must be a wolf or a man!"

I ordered him to go in the direction of the unknown object which was
coming toward us. In two minutes we were on a line with it, and I
recognized a man.

"Halloo! good man!" shouted my coachman; "tell us, do you know the
road?"

"This is the road," replied the man. "I am on solid ground, but what the
devil is the good of that."

"Listen, my good peasant," said I; "do you know this country? Can you
lead us to a shelter for the night?"

"This country! Thank God, I have been over it on foot and in carriage,
from one end to the other. But one can not help losing the road in this
weather. It is better to stop here and wait till the hurricane ceases:
then the sky will clear, and we can find the way by the stars."

His coolness gave me courage. I had decided to trust myself to the mercy
of God and pass the night on the steppe, when the traveler, seating
himself on the bench which was the coachman's seat, said to the driver:

"Thank God, a dwelling is near. Turn to the right and go on."

"Why should I turn to the right?" said the coachman, sulkily, "where do
you see a road?"

"Must I say to you these horses, as well as the harness, belong to
another? then use the whip without respite."

I thought my coachman's view rational.

"Why do you believe," said I to the new-comer, "that a dwelling is not
far off?"

"The wind blows from that quarter," said he, "and I have smelled
smoke--proof that a dwelling is near."

His sagacity, the delicacy of his sense of smell, filled me with
admiration; I ordered my coa