“Well, God speed!  Give my love to your mother, Mihailo.  Give my love to them all.  And you, Ignatyev, mind you don’t forget to give the parcel to Bystretsov....  Off!”

The driver took the reins in one hand, blew his nose, and, arranging the seat under himself, clicked to the horses.

“Give them my love,” the postmaster repeated.

The big bell clanged something to the little bells, the little bells gave it a friendly answer.  The cart squeaked, moved.  The big bell lamented, the little bells laughed.  Standing up in his seat the driver lashed the restless tracehorse twice, and the cart rumbled with a hollow sound along the dusty road.  The little town was asleep.  Houses and trees stood black on each side of the broad street, and not a light was to be seen.  Narrow clouds stretched here and there over the star-spangled sky, and where the dawn would soon be coming there was a narrow crescent moon; but neither the stars, of which there were many, nor the half-moon, which looked white, lighted up the night air.  It was cold and damp, and there was a smell of autumn.

The student, who thought that politeness required him to talk affably to a man who had not refused to let him accompany him, began: 

“In summer it would be light at this time, but now there is not even a sign of the dawn.  Summer is over!”

The student looked at the sky and went on: 

“Even from the sky one can see that it is autumn.  Look to the right.  Do you see three stars side by side in a straight line?  That is the constellation of Orion, which, in our hemisphere, only becomes visible in September.”

The postman, thrusting his hands into his sleeves and retreating up to his ears into his coat collar, did not stir and did not glance at the sky.  Apparently the constellation of Orion did not interest him.  He was accustomed to see the stars, and probably he had long grown weary of them.  The student paused for a while and then said: 

“It’s cold!  It’s time for the dawn to begin.  Do you know what time the sun rises?”

“What?”

“What time does the sun rise now?”

“Between five and six,” said the driver.

The mail cart drove out of the town.  Now nothing could be seen on either side of the road but the fences of kitchen gardens and here and there a solitary willow-tree; everything in front of them was shrouded in darkness.  Here in the open country the half-moon looked bigger and the stars shone more brightly.  Then came a scent of dampness; the postman shrank further into his collar, the student felt an unpleasant chill first creeping about his feet, then over the mail bags, over his hands and his face.  The horses moved more slowly; the bell was mute as though it were frozen.  There was the sound of the splash of water, and stars reflected in the water danced under the horses’ feet and round the wheels.

But ten minutes later it became so dark that neither the stars nor the moon could be seen.  The mail cart had entered the forest.  Prickly pine branches were continually hitting the student on his cap and a spider’s web settled on his face.  Wheels and hoofs knocked against huge roots, and the mail cart swayed from side to side as though it were drunk.