Soon the travellers reached the station at which the road turned off to Golovliovo. Here at last Stepan Vladimirych lost some of his devil-may-care attitude and became crestfallen and taciturn. Ivan Mikhailych tried to cheer him up and insisted that he part with his pipe. "You'd better throw the pipe into the nettles, sir, when you come to the manor-house," he coaxed. "You will find it later on." Finally the horses that were to take the innkeeper to the end of his journey were ready, and the moment of parting came. "Good-by, brother," said Golovliov in a tremulous voice, kissing Ivan Mikhailych. "She'll plague the life out of me." "The Lord is merciful. Keep up a stout heart." "She'll eat me up alive," repeated Stepan Vladimirych, with such conviction that the innkeeper involuntarily lowered his eyes. With these words Golovliov turned sharply along the country road, walking in a shuffle and leaning on a gnarled stick which he had cut off a tree. Ivan Mikhailych followed him with his eyes for a while, and then ran after him. "Listen, master," he said. "When I was cleaning your uniform a few minutes ago, I saw three rubles in your side pocket. Please don't lose them." Stepan Vladimirych was visibly irresolute and could not make up his mind how to act in this contingency. Finally, he stretched out his hand to the peasant and said, with tears in his eyes: "I understand--to buy tobacco for the old trooper? Thanks. But she'll eat me up alive, friend. Sure as hell." Golovliov found the country road again and several minutes later his grey soldier's cap showed afar off, now vanishing, now appearing above the young wood. It was early in the day. The morning mist, touched into gold by the first rays of the sun, hovered above the country road. The grass glistened with the dew, and the air was redolent of fir-trees, mushrooms, and wild berries. The road meandered across a plain swarming with birds.