e, like human dreams. There is an idea in the open road, but what
sort of idea is there in travelling with posting tickets? Posting
tickets mean an end to ideas. _Vive la grande route_ and then as God
wills.

After the sudden and unexpected interview with Liza which I have
described, he rushed on, more lost in forgetfulness than ever. The high
road passed half a mile from Skvoreshniki and, strange to say, he was
not at first aware that he was on it. Logical reasoning or even distinct
consciousness was unbearable to him at this moment. A fine rain kept
drizzling, ceasing, and drizzling again; but he did not even notice
the rain. He did not even notice either how he threw his bag over his
shoulder, nor how much more comfortably he walked with it so. He must
have walked like that for nearly a mile or so when he suddenly stood
still and looked round. The old road, black, marked with wheel-ruts
and planted with willows on each side, ran before him like an endless
thread; on the right hand were bare plains from which the harvest had
long ago been carried; on the left there were bushes and in the distance
beyond them a copse.

And far, far away a scarcely perceptible line of the railway, running
aslant, and on it the smoke of a train, but no sound was heard. Stepan
Trofimovitch felt a little timid, but only for a moment. He heaved a
vague sigh, put down his bag beside a willow, and sat down to rest.
As he moved to sit down he was conscious of being chilly and wrapped
himself in his rug; noticing at the same time that it was raining, he
put up his umbrella. He sat like that for some time, moving his lips
from time to time and firmly grasping the umbrella handle. Images of all
sorts passed in feverish procession before him, rapidly succeeding one
another in his mind.

"Lise, Lise," he thought, "and with her _ce Maurice_.... Strange
people.... But what was the strange fire, and what were they talking
about, and who were murdered? I fancy Nastasya has not found out yet and
is still waiting for me with my coffee... cards? Did I really lose men
at cards? H'm! Among us in Russia in the times of serfdom, so called....
My God, yes--Fedka!"

He started all over with terror and looked about him. "What if that
Fedka is in hiding somewhere behind the bushes? They say he has a
regular band of robbers here on the high road. Oh, mercy, I... I'll
tell him the whole truth then, that I was to blame... and that I've
been miserable about him