But Gerásim rowed on and on. And now he had left Moscow behind him. Now, already meadows, fields, groves stretched along the shores, and peasant cottages made their appearance. It smacked of the country. He flung aside the oars, bent his head down to Mumú, who was sitting in front of him on a dry thwart,--the bottom was inundated with water,--and remained motionless, with his mighty hands crossed on her back, while the boat drifted a little backward with the current toward the town. At last Gerásim straightened up hastily, with a sort of painful wrath on his face, wound the rope around the bricks he had taken, arranged a noose, put it on Mumú's neck, lifted her over the river, for the last time gazed at her.... She gazed back at him confidingly and without alarm, waving her little tail slightly. He turned away, shut his eyes, and opened his hands... Gerásim heard nothing, neither the swift whine of the falling Mumú, nor the loud splash of the water; for him the noisiest day was silent and speechless, as not even the quietest night is to us, and when he opened his eyes again, the little waves were hurrying down the river as before; as before they were plashing about the sides of the boat, and only far astern toward the shore certain broad circles were spreading. Eróshka, as soon as Gerásim vanished from his sight, returned home and reported what he had seen. "Well, yes,"--remarked Stepán;--"he will drown her. You may be easy about that. If he has once promised a thing ...." Throughout the day no one saw Gerásim. He did not dine at home. Evening came; all, except him, assembled for supper. "What a queer fellow that Gerásim is!"--squealed a fat laundress. "The idea of making such a fuss over a dog!... Really!" "But Gerásim has been here,"--suddenly exclaimed Stepán, as he scooped up his buckwheat groats with his spoon. "What? When?" "Why, a couple of hours ago. Certainly he has! I met him at the gate; he has gone away from here again; he went out of the courtyard. I wanted to ask him about his dog, but he evidently was out of sorts. Well, and he jostled me; it must have been done by accident, he only wanted to get me out of the way; as much as to say: 'Don't bother me!'--but he gave me such a dig in the spine, that óï, óï, óï!"--And Stepán shrugged his shoulders with an involuntary grimace, and rubbed the nape of his neck.--"Yes,"--he added;--"his hand is an apt one, there 's no denying that!" All laughed at Stepán and, after supper, dispersed to their beds.