He was asleep. His head had fallen on his breast, [Pg 106] his snores mingled with the rattle of the wheels. He was sleeping as deeply and soundly in the wet and cold and discomfort as though he were at home in his bed. The reins hung loosely between the enormous fingers of his fur gloves. All she had to do was to take them away from him, he wouldn't notice it. She did so. He was sleeping so soundly that he had no idea of what was going on behind him. She was standing on the seat now, erect and with flashing eyes, holding the reins with both hands. Now a tug, a turn to the left--she could not reach the whip, but a "_Huj_, _het!_" was enough--then a sudden jerk with all her strength, and the terrified horses jumped to the left. One wheel was already hanging over the side of the ditch--farewell, Mr. Tiralla!--a grimace partly of horror at what she had done, partly of triumphant delight, distorted the woman's face--crash--they lay at the bottom. But not the horses and not the carriage, only Mr. Tiralla and his wife. The clever animals had stopped short as though they recognized the danger, and were now standing quite close to the edge, their bits covered with foam. "_Psia krew!_" Mr. Tiralla scrambled out of the ditch, all of a sudden quite sober. The soft snow had felt like a downy feather bed, and he hadn't hurt himself in the slightest. What a joke! How often he had been upset in that ditch. H'm, if the horses hadn't been so sensible. He patted their necks and praised them. And then he called to his wife, "Heigh, Sophia, where have you got to?" She did not answer. She had not hurt herself either; she lay on her back in the ditch, snow under her, snow on both sides of her, and above her the early morning sky, clear and rosy. She closed her eyes [Pg 107] again; let him call her, she would remain where she was for ever. Then she suddenly remembered that her beautiful ball-dress from that good dressmaker in Posen might be spoiled. Her fur cloak could not keep the snow-water out very long; she already felt it penetrating into her shoes. Ugh, how wet and horrid it was! She would never be able to put the dress on again. She jumped up hastily, and called to her husband to help her. And when she had safely got out of the ditch, she shook her skirts and examined her dress, and was delighted to find that nothing had been spoiled. They got into the carriage again. But now Mr. Tiralla kept his eyes open, although he felt fit to drop with fatigue. What would Sophia say if he were to upset her once more? "I'm sorry, my dear," he murmured, in a crestfallen voice. She said nothing. As they reached the gate, they found it wide open just as they had left it. The front door was not locked either, the latch was, of course, down, but the door had not been bolted.