"This is the road," replied the man. "I am on solid ground, but what the devil is the good of that."
"Listen, my good peasant," said I; "do you know this country? Can you lead us to a shelter for the night?"
"This country! Thank God, I have been over it on foot and in carriage, from one end to the other. But one can not help losing the road in this weather. It is better to stop here and wait till the hurricane ceases: then the sky will clear, and we can find the way by the stars."
His coolness gave me courage. I had decided to trust myself to the mercy of God and pass the night on the steppe, when the traveler, seating himself on the bench which was the coachman's seat, said to the driver: "Thank God, a dwelling is near. Turn to the right and go on."
"Why should I turn to the right?" said the coachman, sulkily, "where do you see a road?"
"Must I say to you these horses, as well as the harness, belong to another? then use the whip without respite."
I thought my coachman's view rational.
"Why do you believe," said I to the new-comer, "that a dwelling is not far off?"
"The wind blows from that quarter," said he, "and I have smelled smoke--proof that a dwelling is near."
His sagacity, the delicacy of his sense of smell, filled me with admiration; I ordered my coachman to go wherever the other wished. The horses walked heavily through the deep snow. The kibitka advanced but slowly, now raised on a hillock, now descending into a hollow, swaying from side like a boat on a stormy sea.
Saveliitch, falling over on me every instant, moaned. I pulled down the hood of the kibitka, wrapped myself up in my pelisse, and fell asleep, rocked by the swaying of the vehicle, and lulled by the chant of the tempest.
The horses stopped. Saveliitch was holding my hand.
"Come out, my lord," said he, "we have arrived."
"Where have we arrived?" said I, rubbing my eyes.
"At the shelter. God has helped us; we have stumbled right upon the hedge of the dwelling. Come out, my lord, quick; come and warm yourself."
I descended from the kibitka; the hurricane had not ceased, but it had moderated; sight was useless, it was so dark. The master of the house met us at the door, holding a lantern under the flaps of his long coat, the Cossack cafetan. He led us into a small, though no untidy room, lighted by a pine torch. In the centre hung a carabine and a high Cossack cap.