Gradually the trees became thinner, and Vladimir drove out of the wood; but Jadrino was not to be seen. It must have been about midnight. Tears gushed from the young man's eyes. He drove on at random; and now the weather abated, the clouds dispersed, and before him was a wide stretch of plain covered with a white billowy carpet. The night was comparatively clear, and he could see a small village a short distance off, which consisted of four or five cottages. Vladimir drove towards it. At the first door he jumped out of the sledge, ran up to the window, and tapped. After a few minutes a wooden shutter was raised, and an old man stuck out his grey beard. "What do you want?" [Illustration: "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"] "How far is Jadrino?" "How far is Jadrino?" "Yes, yes! Is it far?" "Not far; about ten miles." At this answer Vladimir clutched hold of his hair, and stood motionless, like a man condemned to death. "Where do you come from?" added the man. Vladimir had not the courage to reply. "My man," he said, "can you procure me horses to Jadrino?" "We have no horses," answered the peasant. "Could I find a guide? I will pay him any sum he likes." "Stop!" said the old man, dropping the shutter; "I will send my son out to you; he will conduct you." Vladimir waited. Scarcely a minute had passed when he again knocked. The shutter was lifted, and a beard was seen. "What do you want?" "What about your son?" "He'll come out directly: he is putting on his boots. Are you cold? Come in and warm yourself." "Thanks; send out your son quickly." The gate creaked; a youth came out with a cudgel, and walked on in front, at one time pointing out the road, at another looking for it in a mass of drifted snow. "What o'clock 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 light when they reached Jadrino. The church was closed. Vladimir paid the guide, and drove into the yard of the priest's house. In the yard his two-horsed sledge was not to be seen. What news awaited him! * * * * * But let us return to the kind proprietors of Nenaradova, and see what is going on there. Nothing. The old people awoke, and went into the sitting-room, Gavril in a night-cap and flannel jacket, Praskovia in a wadded dressing gown. The samovar was brought in, and Gavril sent the little maid to ask Maria how she was and how she had slept. The little maid returned, saying that her young lady had slept badly, but that she was better now, and that she would come into the sitting-room in a moment. And indeed the door opened and Maria came in and wished her papa and mamma good morning. "How is your head-ache, Masha?" (familiar for Mary) inquired Gavril. "Better, papa," answered Masha. "The fumes from the stoves must have given you your headache," remarked Praskovia. "Perhaps so, mamma," replied Masha.