farther away.”
“Look, it must be in Moscow!”
Two of the gazers went round to the other side of the coach and sat down on its steps.
“It’s more to the left, why, Little Mytíshchi is over there, and this is right on the other side.”
Several men joined the first two.
“See how it’s flaring,” said one. “That’s a fire in Moscow: either in the Sushchévski or the Rogózhski quarter.”
No one replied to this remark and for some time they all gazed silently at the spreading flames of the second fire in the distance.
Old Danílo Teréntich, the count’s valet (as he was called), came up to the group and shouted at Míshka.
“What are you staring at, you good-for-nothing? … The count will be calling and there’s nobody there; go and gather the clothes together.”
“I only ran out to get some