Elena at last that she had not spoken to Insarov for more than an
hour. She turned to him with a trifling question; he at once answered
her, delighted. Dim sounds began stirring indistinctly in the air, as
though thousands of voices were talking in the distance; Moscow was
coming to meet them. Lights twinkled afar off; they grew more and
more frequent; at last there was the grating of the cobbles under
their wheels. Anna Vassilyevna awoke, every one in the carriage began
talking, though no one could hear what was said; everything was
drowned in the rattle of the cobbles under the two carriages, and the
hoofs of the eight horses. Long and wearisome seemed the journey from
Moscow to Kuntsovo; all the party were asleep or silent, leaning with
their heads pressed into their respective corners; Elena did not close
her eyes; she kept them fixed on Insarov's dimly-outlined figure. A
mood of sadness had come upon Shubin; the breeze was blowing into his
eyes and irritating him; he retired into the collar of his cloak and
was on the point of tears. Uvar Ivanovitch was snoring blissfully,
rocking from side to side. The carriages came to a standstill at last.
Two men-servants lifted Anna Vassilyevna out of the carriage; she was
all to pieces, and at parting from her fellow travellers, announced
that she was 'nearly dead'; they began thanking her, but she only
repeated, 'nearly dead.' Elena for the first time pressed Insarov's
hand at parting, and for a long while she sat at her window before
undressing; Shubin seized an opportunity to whisper to Bersenyev:

'There, isn't he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!'

'While you didn't even do that,' retorted Bersenyev, and he started
homewards with Insarov.

The dawn was already showing in the sky when the two friends reached