I drew near the place of my destination. Around me extended a desert,
sad and wild, broken be little hills and deep ravines, all covered
with snow. The sun was setting.

My kibitka followed the narrow road, or rather trace, left by
peasants' sledges. Suddenly my coachman, looking at a certain
point and addressing me, "My lord," said he, taking off his cap,
"do you not command us to retrace our steps?"

"What for?"

"The weather is uncertain. There is some wind ahead; do you see it
drive the snow on the surface?"

"What matter?"

"And do you not see what is over yonder?" pointing with his whip
to the east.

"I see nothing more than the white steppes and the clear sky."

"There! there! that little cloud!"

I saw indeed upon the horizon a little white cloud that I had at
first taken for a distant hill. My coachman explained to me that
this little cloud foretold a _chasse-neige_--a snowdrift. I had
heard of the drifting snows of this region, and I know that at
times, storms swallowed up whole caravans. Saveliitch agreed with
the coachman, and advised our return.