was not at all disturbed by that either.

He remembered that Nikita was lying under him and that he had got warm
and was alive, and it seemed to him that he was Nikita and Nikita was
he, and that his life was not in himself but in Nikita. He strained his
ears and heard Nikita breathing and even slightly snoring. 'Nikita is
alive, so I too am alive!' he said to himself triumphantly.

And he remembered his money, his shop, his house, the buying and
selling, and Mironov's millions, and it was hard for him to understand
why that man, called Vasili Brekhunov, had troubled himself with all
those things with which he had been troubled.

'Well, it was because he did not know what the real thing was,' he
thought, concerning that Vasili Brekhunov. 'He did not know, but now I
know and know for sure. Now I know!' And again he heard the voice of
the one who had called him before. 'I'm coming! Coming!' he responded
gladly, and his whole being was filled with joyful emotion. He felt
himself free and that nothing could hold him back any longer.

After that Vasili Andreevich neither saw, heard, nor felt anything more
in this world.

All around the snow still eddied. The same whirlwinds of snow circled
about, covering the dead Vasili Andreevich's fur coat, the shivering
Mukhorty, the sledge, now scarcely to be seen, and Nikita lying at the
bottom of it, kept warm beneath his dead master.