The sinuous road with two wagon-ruts revealed picturesque views at
every turn. The path finally chosen by the sisters led to a hollow.
Its sides, overgrown with bushes and weeds, looked wildly beautiful.
From its depth came the sweet, warm odour of clover, and down below
its white bosom grass was visible. A small narrow bridge, propped up
from below with thin slender stakes, hung over the hollow. On the
other side of the bridge a low hedge stretched right and left, and in
this hedge, quite facing the bridge, a small gate was visible.

The sisters crossed the bridge, holding on to its slender hand-rail of
birch. They tried the gate--it was closed. They looked at one another.
Elisaveta, growing red with vexation, said:

"We'll have to go back again."

"Every one says that you can't get into the place," said Elena, "that
you've got to get over the hedge, and that even that is impossible for
some reason or other. It's very strange. I wonder what they can be up
to?"

Suddenly there was a slight rustle in the bushes by the hedge. The
branches parted. A pale boy ran up to them. He looked quickly at the
sisters with his clear, intensely calm, almost dead eyes. There was
something strange in the shape of his pale lips, thought Elisaveta. A
motionless, sorrowful expression lurked in the corners of his mouth.
He opened the gate; he seemed to say something, but so quietly that
the sisters could not catch his words. Or was it the sound of the
light breeze in the wavering foliage?