“Mind, fellow,” said the Count to the coachman, putting his head out of the window in front, “if you tell the footman I’m here, I’ll thrash you; hold your tongue and you’ll have another ten roubles.”

Hardly had he time to close the window before the body of the carriage shook more violently and the carriage stopped. He pressed close into the corner, held his breath, and even shut his eyes, so terrified was he lest anything should balk his passionate expectation. The door opened, the carriage steps fell noisily one after the other, he heard the rustle of a woman’s dress, a smell of jasmine perfume filled the musty carriage, quick little feet ran up the carriage steps, and Anna Fyódorovna, brushing the Count’s leg with the skirt of her cloak, which had come open, sank silently, but breathing heavily, on to the seat beside him.