"The storm seems to be in real earnest," said Arina Petrovna. "Listen to it howling and whining." "Oh, well, let it whine. The blizzard keeps on whining and we keep on drinking tea. That's how it is, mother dear," replied Porfiry Vladimirych. "It must be a terrible thing for one to be out in the fields now." "Yes, it may be terrible to some, but what do we care? Some feel cold and dreary, but we are bright and cheery. We sit here and sip our tea, with sugar, and cream, and lemon. And should we want tea with rum, we can have it with rum." "Yes, but suppose----" "Just a moment, mother dear. I say, it is very bad in the open now. There is no road or path. Everything is wiped out. And then--wolves! But here we are warm and cozy, afraid of nothing. We just keep sitting here, quietly and peacefully. If we want to play a little game of cards, we play cards; if we want to have some hot tea, well, then we have tea. We won't drink more than we want to, but we may drink to our heart's content. And why all this? Because, mother dear, God's mercy is with us. Were it not for Him, the King of Kings, maybe we, too, would now be wandering in the fields, in the cold and the darkness, in a shabby little coat, a flimsy little girdle, bast shoes." "Oh, come now, what do you mean--bast shoes? We are gentlefolk, surely. In any circumstances we can afford decent footwear." "Do you know why we were born in the gentry, mother dear? All because God's mercy was with us. Were it not for that we would now be in a hut and it would be lighted not by a candle but by a _luchina_ and as to tea or coffee, we wouldn't dare dream about them. I would be patching my miserable little bast shoes, and you would be getting ready to sup off thin cabbage soup, and Yevpraksia would be weaving tick, and on top of it all, maybe the _desyatsky_ would come to press us and the wagon into service." "Yes, catch the _desyatsky_ coming on a night like this!" "Who knows, mother dear? And maybe the regiments would come! Maybe there would be war or mutiny. The regiments must be there on the dot. The other day, for instance, the chief of police was telling me Napoleon III. had died. So you may be sure the French will be up to some mischief again. Naturally, our soldiers will have to make for the front at once, and you, friend peasant, will have to get your wagon out, quick! Never mind cold, blizzard, and snowdrifts. You go if the authorities tell you to, and if you know what is good for you. But we, don't you see, will be spared a while. They won't turn us out with the wagon." "Yes, who dares deny it? The mercy the Lord has shown us is great."