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.

Our host, a Cossack from the river Iaik, was a peasant of some sixty
years, still fresh and green.