Next morning the Headmaster of the National Schools, accompanied by the Vice-Governor and Shabalov, started in their carriages from the Headmaster’s offices and drove off to Trirodov’s school in the Prosianiya Meadows. They had not yet fully recovered from the previous day’s carouse. They carried on their indecent, half-tipsy conversations in the midst of nature’s loveliness. They looked like a lot of picnickers. Zinaida Grigorievna and Kerbakh, who were in one carriage, were engaged in a malicious conversation. They tore their acquaintances to shreds. She began with Poterin’s gloves. Then she related about the suicide of another inspector’s mistress; she drowned herself because she was about to have a child. Then she told about a third inspector who got drunk in a bath-house and got into a tussle there with the mayor of the town. Shabalov was riding in a trap with Zherbenev. “It would be good to have a tasty snack,” he said. “We are sure to get something there,” replied Zherbenev confidently. The visitors were all confident that they were being awaited. Zinaida Grigorievna said: “The most interesting part of it will be hidden of course.” “Yes, but we’ll investigate.” It was a fresh, early morning. The road went through the wood. They had now driven for a long time. It seemed as if the same meadows and woods, copses, streams, and bridges repeated themselves again and again. They began to ask the drivers: “Are you sure you’re going the right way?” “Perhaps you’ve lost your way.” “I think it’s in that direction.” The two towers of Trirodov’s house soon became visible. They appeared to the right, and yet it was impossible to find the way to them. For a long time they blundered. The roads spread and branched out at this point. At last the driver of the first carriage stopped his horses, and behind it the other carriages came to a standstill. “I’ll have to ask some one,” said the driver. “There’s some sort of a boy coming this way.” A ten-year-old, barefoot boy could be seen coming down the road from the wood. Shabalov shouted savagely at him: “Stop!” The boy glanced at the carriages and calmly walked on. Shabalov cried more furiously this time: “Stop, you young brat! Off with your cap! Don’t you see that gentlemen are coming--why don’t you bow to them?” The boy paused. He looked in astonishment at the variety of carriages and did not take his cap off. Doulebova decided: “He’s simply an idiot!” “Well, we shall make him talk,” said Kerbakh. He left his carriage and, going up to the boy, asked him: “Do you know where Trirodov’s school is?” The boy silently pointed to one of the roads with his hand. Then he ran off quickly, and disappeared somewhere among the bushes. At last the road went along a fence. Everything all around seemed deserted and quiet. Evidently no one awaited the visitors or had arranged to meet them.