Vassili, who was charged with the apportioning of alms during the journey, was busy helping Philip, and only when everything had been put straight and Philip had resumed the reins again had he time to look for his purse.  Hardly had the britchka begun to move when a blinding flash filled the welkin with a blaze of light which brought the horses to their haunches.  Then, the flash was followed by such an ear-splitting roar that the very vault of heaven seemed to be descending upon our heads.  The wind blew harder than ever, and Vassili’s cloak, the manes and tails of the horses, and the carriage-apron were all slanted in one direction as they waved furiously in the violent blast.

Presently, upon the britchka’s top there fell some large drops of rain—­“one, two, three:”  then suddenly, and as though a roll of drums were being beaten over our heads, the whole countryside resounded with the clatter of the deluge.

From Vassili’s movements, I could see that he had now got his purse open, and that the poor outcast was still bowing and making the sign of the cross as he ran beside the wheels of the vehicle, at the imminent risk of being run over, and reiterated from time to time his plea, “For-for God’s sake!” At last a copeck rolled upon the ground, and the miserable creature—­his mutilated arms, with their sleeves wet through and through, held out before him—­stopped perplexed in the roadway and vanished from my sight.

The heavy rain, driven before the tempestuous wind, poured down in pailfuls and, dripping from Vassili’s thick cloak, formed a series of pools on the apron.  The dust became changed to a paste which clung to the wheels, and the ruts became transformed into muddy rivulets.

At last, however, the lightning grew paler and more diffuse, and the thunderclaps lost some of their terror amid the monotonous rattling of the downpour.  Then the rain also abated, and the clouds began to disperse.  In the region of the sun, a lightness appeared, and between the white-grey clouds could be caught glimpses of an azure sky.

Finally, a dazzling ray shot across the pools on the road, shot through the threads of rain—­now falling thin and straight, as from a sieve—­, and fell upon the fresh leaves and blades of grass.  The great cloud was still louring black and threatening on the far horizon, but I no longer felt afraid of it—­I felt only an inexpressibly pleasant hopefulness in proportion, as trust in life replaced the late burden of fear.  Indeed, my heart was smiling like that of refreshed, revivified Nature herself.

Vassili took off his cloak and wrung the water from it.  Woloda flung back the apron, and I stood up in the britchka to drink in the new, fresh, balm-laden air.  In front of us was the carriage, rolling along and looking as wet and resplendent in the sunlight as though it had just been polished.  On one side of the road boundless oatfields, intersected in places by small ravines which now showed bright with their moist earth and greenery, stretched to the far horizon like a checkered carpet, while on the other side of us an aspen wood, intermingled with hazel bushes, and parquetted with wild thyme in joyous profusion, no longer rustled and trembled, but slowly dropped rich, sparkling diamonds from its newly-bathed branches on to the withered leaves of last year.