“Wait,” said the old man, lowering the shutter. “I’ll send my son out to you. He’ll guide you.” Vladimir waited. A minute had not elapsed when he began knocking again. The shutter went up again, the same gray beard made its appearance. “What do you want?” “Well, where’s your son?” “He’ll be out soon. He’s putting on his boots. Are you cold? Step in and warm yourself.” “Thanks, send your son out quickly.” The gate creaked; a lad came out with a heavy stick in hand. He went in front, now indicating, now searching for, the road hidden under snowdrifts. “What hour is it?” Vladimir asked him. “It will soon be daylight,” replied the young peasant. Vladimir spoke not another word. The cocks were crowing and it was already light when they reached Jadrino. The church was closed. Vladimir paid his guide and drove to the priest’s house. His troika was not there. What news awaited him! Let us return, however, to the good land-owners of Nenaradova and see what is passing there. Nothing out of the way. The old people had had their sleep and had gone to the dining-room--Gavrila Gavrilovich in his night-cap and flannel jacket, Prascovia Petrovna in her dressing-gown of wadding. The samovar was brought in, and Gavrila Gavrilovich sent the maid to ask Maria Gavrilovna about her health and how she had rested. The maid returned, announcing that the young lady had slept badly, but was feeling better now, and that presently she would be in to breakfast. Very shortly, in fact, the door opened, and Maria Gavrilovna came forward to greet her papa and mamma. “How is your head, Masha?” asked Gavrila Gavrilovich. “Better, Papa,” replied Masha. “Masha, you must have got a headache yesterday from the fumes of the heater,” said Prascovia Petrovna. “Perhaps so, Mamma,” answered Masha. The day passed happily, but by night Masha was taken ill. A doctor was sent for from town. He arrived towards evening and found the sick girl in delirium. She developed high fever, and for two weeks the poor girl was at death’s door.