We had not been gone a quarter of an hour when the driver stopped the horses, handed the reins to Alyoshka, awkwardly liberated his legs from the seat, and went to search for the road, crunching over the snow in his great boots. "What is it? Where are you going? Are we lost?" I asked, but the driver made no reply, but, turning his face away from the wind, which cut his eyes, marched off from the sledge. "Well, how is it?" I repeated, when he returned. "Nothing at all," said he to me impatiently and with vexation, as though I were to blame for his missing the road; and again slowly wrapping up his big legs in the robe, he gathered the reins in his stiffened mittens. "What's to be done?" I asked as we started off again. "What's to be done? We shall go as God leads." And we drove along in the same dog-trot over what was evidently an untrodden waste, sometimes sinking in deep, mealy snow, sometimes gliding over crisp, unbroken crust. Although it was cold, the snow kept melting quickly on my collar. The low-flying snow-clouds increased, and occasionally the dry snowflakes began to fall. It was clear that we were going out of our way, because, after keeping on for a quarter of an hour more, we saw no sign of a verst-post. "Well, what do you think about it now?" I asked of the driver once more. "Shall we get to the station?" "Which one? We should go back if we let the horses have their way: they will take us. But, as for the next one, that's a problem.... Only we might perish." "Well, then, let us go back," said I. "And indeed"-- "How is it? Shall we turn about?" repeated the driver. "Yes, yes: turn back." The driver shook the reins. The horses started off more rapidly; and, though I did not notice that we had turned around, the wind changed, and soon through the snow appeared the windmills. The driver's good spirits returned, and he began to be communicative. "Lately," said he, "in just such a snowstorm some people coming from that same station lost their way. Yes: they spent the night in the hayricks, and barely managed to get here in the morning. Thanks to the hayricks, they were rescued. If it had not been for them, they would have frozen to death, it was so cold. And one froze his foot, and died three weeks afterwards." "But now, you see, it's not cold; and it's growing less windy," I said. "Couldn't we go on?" "It's warm enough, but it's snowing. Now going back, it seems easier. But it's snowing hard. Might go on, if you were a courier or something; but this is for your own sake. What kind of a joke would that be if a passenger froze to death? How, then, could I be answerable to your grace?" [Footnote 1: _yamshchík_.] [Footnote 2: _gospodi-bátiushka!_ Literally, Lord, little father.] II. At this moment we heard behind us the bells of a troïka which was rapidly overtaking us. "A courier's bell," said my driver. "There's one such for every station."