"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."