“They are army boots,” the man put in complacently and significantly.

“No, I am not precisely in the army, I⁠ ⁠…”

“What an inquisitive woman!” Stepan Trofimovitch mused with vexation. “And how they stare at me⁠ ⁠… mais enfin . In fact, it’s strange that I feel, as it were, conscience-stricken before them, and yet I’ve done them no harm.”

The woman was whispering to the man.

“If it’s no offence, we’d give you a lift if so be it’s agreeable.”

Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly roused himself.

“Yes, yes, my friends, I accept it with pleasure, for I’m very tired; but how am I to get in?”