XXV.
The conductor came in, and, noticing that the candle was burning low, put it out, without substituting another for it. Day began to break. Pózdnyshev was silent, drawing deep sighs as long as the conductor was in the car. He continued his story only when the conductor had left, and in the half-dark car could be heard only the rattle of the windows of the moving car and the even snoring of the clerk. In the twilight of the dawn I could not see Pózdnyshev's face at all. I could hear only his ever more agitated and suffering voice.
"I had to travel thirty-five miles in a carriage and eight hours by train. It was nice travelling in the carriage. It was a frosty autumn day with a bright sun,—you know, that period of the year when the ruts are clearly defined on the muddy road. The roads are smooth, the light is bright, the air bracing. It was a pleasure to ride in the tarantás. When it was day and I had started, I felt easier. As I looked at the horses, at the fields, and at the passers-by, I forgot whither I was travelling. At times it seemed to me that I was merely journeying, and that there was nothing of that which had provoked me. It was a relief to me to be able to forget myself thus. Whenever I recalled where I was travelling to, I said to myself: 'There will be time then, but now do not think!'
"In the middle of the road there happened an accident which detained me and still more diverted my attention: the tarantás broke and had to be repaired. This breakdown was of great importance in that it made me arrive at Moscow, not at five o'clock, as I had expected, but at
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