Ivan Ivanovitch heaved a deep sigh and lighted a pipe to begin to tell
his story, but just at that moment the rain began. And five minutes
later heavy rain came down, covering the sky, and it was hard to tell
when it would be over. Ivan Ivanovitch and Burkin stopped in hesitation;
the dogs, already drenched, stood with their tails between their legs
gazing at them feelingly.

"We must take shelter somewhere," said Burkin. "Let us go to Alehin's;
it's close by."

"Come along."

They turned aside and walked through mown fields, sometimes going
straight forward, sometimes turning to the right, till they came out on
the road. Soon they saw poplars, a garden, then the red roofs of barns;
there was a gleam of the river, and the view opened on to a broad
expanse of water with a windmill and a white bath-house: this was
Sofino, where Alehin lived.

The watermill was at work, drowning the sound of the rain; the dam was
shaking. Here wet horses with drooping heads were standing near their
carts, and men were walking about covered with sacks. It was damp,
muddy, and desolate; the water looked cold and malignant. Ivan
Ivanovitch and Burkin were already conscious of a feeling of wetness,
messiness, and discomfort all over; their feet were heavy with mud, and
when, crossing the dam, they went up to the barns, they were silent, as
though they were angry with one another.

In one of the barns there was the sound of a winnowing machine, the door