There is something exceedingly dreary and oppressive in a sleepless night in the country. At nine, or at latest ten o'clock, life ceases. A weird stillness sets in that is full of terrors. There is nothing to do, and it is a waste to burn candles. Willy-nilly one must go to bed. As soon as the samovar was removed from the table Afimyushka, from an old habit acquired during serfdom, spread a felt blanket in front of the door leading to the mistress's bedroom, scratched her head, yawned, flopped down on the floor, and fell dead asleep. Markovna always fumbled in the maids' room a trifle longer, muttering something to herself as if scolding somebody. But at last she, too, got quiet, and a moment later you could hear her snoring and raving intermittently. The watchman banged on the plate several times to announce his presence, then kept quiet for a long time. Arina Petrovna, sitting in front of a snuffy tallow candle, tried to stave off sleep by playing "patience," but scarcely did she have the cards arranged when she fell into a doze. "It is as easy as not for a fire to start while one is asleep," she would say to herself, and decide to go to bed. But no sooner did she sink into the down pillows than another trouble set in. Her sleepiness, so inviting and insistent all evening long, now left her completely. The room was a close one at the best, and now, from the open flue the heat came thick, and the down pillows were insufferable. Arina Petrovna tossed restlessly. She wanted to call someone, but knew no one would come in answer to her summons. A mysterious quiet reigned all around, a quiet in which the delicate ear could distinguish a multitude of sounds. Now something crackled somewhere, now a whining was audible, now it seemed as if somebody were walking through the corridor, now a puff of wind swept through the room and even touched her face. The ikon lamp burned in front of an image, and the light gave the objects in the room a kind of elusiveness, as if they were not actual things, but only the contours of things. Another bit of light strayed from the open door of the adjacent room, where four or five ikon lamps were burning before the image case. A mouse squeaked behind the wall paper. "Sh-sh-sh, you nasty thing," said Arina Petrovna, and all was silent again. And shadows again, whisperings again coming from no one knew where. The greater part of the night passed in that half-awake senile slumber. Real sleep did not set in and do its work until nearly morning. By six o'clock Arina Petrovna was already on her feet, tired out after a sleepless night.