yards and moving along the streets. Loaded carts stood at the house next to Ferapóntov’s and women were wailing and lamenting as they said goodbye. A small watchdog ran round barking in front of the harnessed horses.
Alpátych entered the innyard at a quicker pace than usual and went straight to the shed where his horses and trap were.
The coachman was asleep. He woke him up, told him to harness, and went into the passage.
From the host’s room came the sounds of a child crying, the despairing sobs of a woman, and the hoarse angry shouting of Ferapóntov.
The cook began running hither and thither in the passage like a frightened hen, just as Alpátych entered.
“He’s done her to death. Killed the mistress! … Beat her … dragged her about so! …”
“What for?” asked Alpátych.
“She kept begging to