The road ran at first along the edge of the forest, then along a broad forest clearing; they caught glimpses of old pines and a young birch copse, and tall, gnarled young oak trees standing singly in the clearings where the wood had lately been cut; but soon it was all merged in the clouds of snow.  The coachman said he could see the forest; the examining magistrate could see nothing but the trace horse.  The wind blew on their backs.

All at once the horses stopped.

“Well, what is it now?” asked Startchenko crossly.

The coachman got down from the box without a word and began running round the sledge, treading on his heels; he made larger and larger circles, getting further and further away from the sledge, and it looked as though he were dancing; at last he came back and began to turn off to the right.

“You’ve got off the road, eh?” asked Startchenko.

“It’s all ri-ight....”

Then there was a little village and not a single light in it.  Again the forest and the fields.  Again they lost the road, and again the coachman got down from the box and danced round the sledge.  The sledge flew along a dark avenue, flew swiftly on.  And the heated trace horse’s hoofs knocked against the sledge.  Here there was a fearful roaring sound from the trees, and nothing could be seen, as though they were flying on into space; and all at once the glaring light at the entrance and the windows flashed upon their eyes, and they heard the good-natured, drawn-out barking of dogs.  They had arrived.

While they were taking off their fur coats and their felt boots below, “Un Petit Verre de Clicquot” was being played upon the piano overhead, and they could hear the children beating time with their feet.  Immediately on going in they were aware of the snug warmth and special smell of the old apartments of a mansion where, whatever the weather outside, life is so warm and clean and comfortable.

“That’s capital!” said Von Taunitz, a fat man with an incredibly thick neck and with whiskers, as he shook the examining magistrate’s hand.  “That’s capital!  You are very welcome, delighted to make your acquaintance.  We are colleagues to some extent, you know.  At one time I was deputy prosecutor; but not for long, only two years.  I came here to look after the estate, and here I have grown old—­an old fogey, in fact.  You are very welcome,” he went on, evidently restraining his voice so as not to speak too loud; he was going upstairs with his guests.  “I have no wife, she’s dead.  But here, I will introduce my daughters,” and turning round, he shouted down the stairs in a voice of thunder:  “Tell Ignat to have the sledge ready at eight o’clock to-morrow morning.”