Again there was the sound of a wailing voice in the air. The porter said:

“They are crying. The mother can’t believe her eyes.⁠ ⁠… It’s dreadful how upset she is.”

“And is the father there?”

“Yes.⁠ ⁠… The father is all right. He sits in the corner and says nothing. They have taken the children to relations.⁠ ⁠… Well, Stepan, shall we have a game of trumps?”

“Yes,” the coachman agreed, scratching himself, “and you, Alyoshka, go to sleep. Almost big enough to be married, and blubbering, you rascal. Come, go along, grandson, go along.⁠ ⁠…”

The presence of the porter reassured Alyoshka. He went, not very resolutely, towards the sledge and lay down. And while he was falling asleep he heard a half-whisper.

“I beat and cover,” said his grandfather.

“I beat and cover,” repeated the porter.

The bell rang in the yard, the door creaked and seemed also saying: “I beat and cover.” When Alyoshka dreamed of the gentleman and, frightened by his eyes, jumped up and burst out crying, it was morning, his grandfather was snoring, and the coach-house no longer seemed terrible.