“He is desperate,” thought Iván. “Everything is dry, and it’s windy weather besides. He’ll come up at the back somewhere, set fire to something, and be off. He’ll burn the place and escape scot free, the villain!⁠ ⁠… There now, if one could but catch him in the act, he’d not get off then!” And the thought fixed itself so firmly in his mind that he did not go up the steps but went out into the street and round the corner. “I’ll just walk round the buildings; who can tell what he’s after?” And Iván, stepping softly, passed out of the gate. As soon as he reached the corner, he looked round along the fence, and seemed to see something suddenly move at the opposite corner, as if someone had come out and disappeared again. Iván stopped, and stood quietly, listening and looking. Everything was still; only the leaves of the willows fluttered in the wind, and the straws of the thatch rustled. At first it seemed pitch dark, but, when his eyes had grown used to the darkness, he could see the far corner, and a plough that lay there, and the eaves. He looked awhile, but saw no one.