tucking his big feet back again under the box, he picked up the reins with his frozen gloves.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, as we started again.
“What are we to do? Go whither God leads us.”
And we drove on at the same slow trot, unmistakably on no sort of road; at one moment in snow that was soft and deep, and the next over brittle, bare ice.
Although it was so cold, the snow on my fur collar melted very quickly; the drifting snow blew more and more thickly near the ground, and a few flakes of frozen snow began falling overhead.
It was evident that we were going astray, because after driving another quarter of an hour, we had not seen a single verst post.
“Come, what do you think,” I asked the driver again, “can we manage to get to the station?”
“To which station? … We shall get back all right if we let the horses go as they please, they’ll take us there; but I doubt our getting to the other station; only lose our lives, maybe.”
“Well, then let us go back,” said I. “And really …”
“Turn back then?” repeated the driver.
“Yes, yes, turn back!”
The driver let the reins go. The horses went at a better pace, and though I did not notice that we turned round, the wind changed and soon the mills could be seen through the snow. The driver plucked up his spirits and began talking. “The other day they were driving back from the next