After travelling so for about ten minutes, Petrúshka turned round and shouted something. Neither Vasíli Andréevich nor Nikíta could hear anything because of the wind, but they guessed that they had arrived at the turning. In fact Petrúshka had turned to the right, and now the wind that had blown from the side blew straight in their faces, and through the snow they saw something dark on their right. It was the bush at the turning.

“Well now, God speed you!”

“Thank you, Petrúshka!”

“Storms with mist the sky conceal!” shouted Petrúshka as he disappeared.

“There’s a poet for you!” muttered Vasíli Andréevich, pulling at the reins.

“Yes, a fine lad⁠—a true peasant,” said Nikíta.

They drove on.