The wind blew harder and harder.  The little cloud soon became a great white mass, rising heavily, growing, extending, and finally invading the whole sky.  A fine snow began to fall, which suddenly changed to immense flakes.  The wind whistled and howled.  It was a chasse-neige—­a snowdrift.

In an instant the somber sky was confounded with the sea of snow which the wind raised up from the earth.  Every thing was indistinguishable.

“Woe, to us! my lord,” cried the coachman, “it is a whirlwind of snow!”

I put my head out of the kibitka—­darkness and storm.  The wind blew with an expression so ferocious that it seemed a living creature.

The snow fell in large flakes upon us, covering us.  The horses went at a walking pace, but very soon stood still.

“Why do you not go on?” I said to the coachman.

“Go where?” he replied, as he got down from the kibitka.  “God knows where we are now!  There is no road; all is darkness.”

I began to scold him.  Saveliitch took up his defense: 

“Why did you not listen to him,” said he, angrily; “you could have returned, taken some tea and slept till morning; the storm would have been over, and we could then have set out.  Why this haste? as if you were going to your wedding?”

Saveliitch was right.  What was to be done?  The snow continued to fall; it was heaped up around the kibitka; the horses stood motionless, now and then shivering.  The coachman walked around them adjusting their harness, as if he had nothing else to do.

Saveliitch grumbled.

I strained my eyes in every direction, hoping to see signs of a dwelling, or of a road, but I could only see the whirling of the snow-drift.  All at once I thought I saw some thing black.  “Halloo! coachman,” I cried out, “what is that black thing yonder?”

The coachman looked attentively where I indicated.  “God knows, my lord,” he replied, re-mounting to his seat; “it is not a kibitka, nor a tree; it seems to be moving.  It must be a wolf or a man!”

I ordered him to go in the direction of the unknown object which was coming toward us.  In two minutes we were on a line with it, and I recognized a man.

“Halloo! good man!” shouted my coachman; “tell us, do you know the road?”

“This is the road,” replied the man.  “I am on solid ground, but what the devil is the good of that.”

“Listen, my good peasant,” said I; “do you know this country?  Can you lead us to a shelter for the night?”

“This country!  Thank God, I have been over it on foot and in carriage, from one end to the other.  But one can not help losing the road in this weather.  It is better to stop here and wait till the hurricane ceases:  then the sky will clear, and we can find the way by the stars.”

His coolness gave me courage.  I had decided to trust myself to the mercy of God and pass the night on the steppe, when the traveler, seating himself on the bench which was the coachman’s seat, said to the driver: