He was still pursued by the same whirl of ideas. Sometimes he was
aware himself that he was terribly absent-minded, and that he was not
thinking of what he ought to be thinking of and wondered at it. This
consciousness of abnormal weakness of mind became at moments very
painful and even humiliating to him.

"How... how is this you've got a cow behind?" he suddenly asked the
woman.

"What do you mean, sir, as though you'd never seen one," laughed the
woman.

"We bought it in the town," the peasant put in. "Our cattle died last
spring... the plague. All the beasts have died round us, all of them.
There aren't half of them left, it's heartbreaking."

And again he lashed the horse, which had got stuck in a rut.

"Yes, that does happen among you in Russia... in general we Russians. ..
Well, yes, it happens," Stepan Trofimovitch broke off.

"If you are a teacher, what are you going to Hatovo for? Maybe you are
going on farther."

"I... I'm not going farther precisely.... _C'est-a-dire,_ I'm going to a
merchant's."

"To Spasov, I suppose?"

"Yes, yes, to Spasov. But that's no matter."

"If you are going to Spasov and on foot, it will take you a week in your
boots," laughed the woman.

"I dare say, I dare say, no matter, _mes amis_, no matter." Stepan
Trofimovitch cut her short impatiently.

"Awfully inquisitive people; but the woman speaks better than he does,
and I notice that since February 19,* their language has altered a
little, and... and what business is it of mine whether I'm going to
Spasov or not? Besides, I'll pay them, so why do they pester me."

"If you are going to Spasov, you must take the steamer," the peasant
persisted.

"That's true indeed," the woman put in with animation, "for if you
drive along the bank it's twenty-five miles out of the way."

"Thirty-five."

"You'll just catch the steamer at Ustyevo at two o'clock tomorrow," the
woman decided finally. But Stepan Trofimovitch was obstinately silent.
His questioners, too, sank into silence. The peasant tugged at his horse
at rare intervals; the peasant woman exchanged brief remarks with him.
Stepan Trofimovitch fell into a doze. He was tremendously surprised when
the woman, laughing, gave him a poke and he found himself in a rather
large village at the door of a cottage with three windows.

"You've had a nap, sir?"

"What is it? Where am I? Ah, yes! Well... never mind," sighed Stepan
Trofimovitch, and he got out of the cart.

He l