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the student's portmanteau； and one of the mail bags。
〃Stop； you rascal！ Sto…op！〃 they heard him shout from the forest。
〃You damned blackguard！〃 he shouted； running up to the cart； and
there was a note of pain and fury in his tearful voice。 〃You
anathema； plague take you！〃 he roared； dashing up to the driver
and shaking his fist at him。
〃What a to…do！ Lord have mercy on us！〃 muttered the driver in a
conscience…stricken voice； setting right something in the harness
at the horses' heads。 〃It's all that devil of a tracehorse。
Cursed filly； it is only a week since she has run in harness。 She
goes all right； but as soon as we go down hill there is trouble！
She wants a touch or two on the nose； then she wouldn't play
about like this。 。 。 Stea…eady！ Damn！〃
While the driver was setting the horses to rights and looking for
the portmanteau； the mail bag； and the sword on the road； the
postman in a plaintive voice shrill with anger ejaculated oaths。
After replacing the luggage the driver for no reason whatever led
the horses for a hundred paces； grumbled at the restless
tracehorse； and jumped up on the box。
When his fright was over the student felt amused and
good…humoured。 It was the first time in his life that he had
driven by night in a mail cart； and the shaking he had just been
through； the postman's having been thrown out； and the pain in
his own back struck him as interesting adventures。 He lighted a
cigarette and said with a laugh：
〃Why you know； you might break your neck like that！ I very nearly
flew out； and I didn't even notice you had been thrown out。 I can
fancy what it is like driving in autumn！〃
The postman did not speak。
〃Have you been going with the post for long？〃 the student asked。
〃Eleven years。〃
〃Oho； every day？〃
〃Yes； every day。 I take this post and drive back again at once。
Why？〃
Making the journey every day； he must have had a good many
interesting adventures in eleven years。 On bright summer and
gloomy autumn nights； or in winter when a ferocious snowstorm
whirled howling round the mail cart； it must have been hard to
avoid feeling frightened and uncanny。 No doubt more than once the
horses had bolted； the mail cart had stuck in the mud； they had
been attacked by highwaymen； or had lost their way i n the
blizzard。 。 。 。
〃I can fancy what adventures you must have had in eleven years！〃
said the student。 〃I expect it must be terrible driving？〃
He said this and expected that the postman would tell him
something； but the latter preserved a sullen silence and
retreated into his collar。 Meanwhile it began to get light。 The
sky changed colour imperceptibly； it still seemed dark； but by
now the horses and the driver and the road could be seen。 The
crescent moon looked bigger and bigger； and the cloud that
stretched below it； shaped like a cannon in a gun…carriage；
showed a faint yellow on its lower edge。 Soon the postman's face
was visible。 It was wet with dew； grey and rigid as the face of a
corpse。 An expression of dull； sullen anger was set upon it； as
though the postman were still in pain and still angry with the
driver。
〃Thank God it is daylight！〃 said the student； looking at his
chilled and angry face。 〃I am quite frozen。 The nights are cold
in September； but as soon as the sun rises it isn't cold。 Shall
we soon reach the station？〃
The postman frowned and made a wry face。
〃How fond you are of talking； upon my word！〃 he said。 〃Can't you
keep quiet when you are travelling？〃
The student was confused； and did not approach him again all the
journey。 The morning came on rapidly。 The moon turned pale and
melted away into the dull grey sky； the cloud turned yellow all
over； the stars grew dim； but the east was still cold…looking and
the same colour as the rest of the sky； so that one could hardly
believe the sun was hidden in it。
The chill of the morning and the surliness of the postman
gradually infected the student。 He looked apathetically at the
country around him； waited for the warmth of the sun； and thought
of nothing but how dreadful and horrible it must be for the poor
trees and the grass to endure the cold nights。 The sun rose dim；
drowsy； and cold。 The tree…tops were not gilded by the rays of
the rising sun； as usually described； the sunbeams did not creep
over the earth and there was no sign of joy in the flight of the
sleepy birds。 The cold remained just the same now that the sun
was up as it had been in the night。
The student looked drowsily and ill…humouredly at the curtained
windows of a mansion by which the mail cart drove。 Behind those
windows； he thought； people were most likely enjoying their
soundest morning sleep not hearing the bells； nor feeling the
cold； nor seeing the postman's angry face； and if the bell did
wake some young lady； she would turn over on the other side；
smile in the fulness of her warmth and comfort； and； drawing up
her feet and putting her hand under her cheek； would go off to
sleep more soundly than ever。
The student looked at the pond which gleamed near the house and
thought of the carp and the pike which find it possible to live
in cold water。 。 。 。
〃It's against the regulations to take anyone with the post。 。 。
。〃 the postman said unexpectedly。 〃It's not allowed！ And since it
is not allowed； people have no business 。 。 。 to get in。 。 。 。
Yes。 It makes no difference to me； it's true； only I don't like
it； and I don't wish it。〃
〃Why didn't you say so before； if you don't like it？〃
The postman made no answer but still had an unfriendly； angry
expression。 When； a little later； the horses stopped at the
entrance of the station the student thanked him and got out of
the cart。 The mail train had not yet come in。 A long goods train
stood in a siding； in the tender the engine driver and his
assistant； with faces wet with dew； were drinking tea from a
dirty tin teapot。 The carriages； the platforms； the seats were
all wet and cold。 Until the train came in the student stood at
the buffet drinking tea while the postman； with his hands thrust
up his sleeves and the same look of anger still on his face；
paced up and down the platform in solitude； staring at the ground
under his feet。
With whom was he angry？ Was it with people； with poverty； with
the autmn nights？
THE NEW VILLA
I
Two miles from the village of Obrutchanovo a huge bridge was
being built。 From the village； which stood up high on the steep
river…bank； its trellis…like skeleton could be seen； and in foggy
weather and on still winter days； when its delicate iron girders
and all the scaffolding around was covered with hoar frost； it
presented a picturesque and even fantastic spectacle。 Kutcherov；
the engineer who was building the bridge； a stout；
broad…shouldered； bearded man in a soft crumpled cap drove
through the village in his racing droshky or his open carriage。
Now and then on holidays navvies working on the bridge would come
to the village； they begged for alms； laughed at the women； and
sometimes carried off something。 But that was rare； as a rule the
days passed quietly and peacefully as though no bridge…building
were going on； and only in the evening；