"At the inn. God came to our aid; we ran right up against a paling. Get out quickly, sir, and warm thy self."
I stepped out of the kibitka. The storm continued, though with less severity. It was pitchy dark. The landlord met us at the gate, holding a lantern under the skirt of his coat, and led me into a room, which, though small, was tolerably clean; it was lit by a rush-light. A gun and a high Cossack hat were suspended to the wall.
Our host, a Cossack of the Yaïk,[1] was a man of about sixty, but hale and strong. Savelitch brought in the cellarette after me, and asked for a fire, in order to prepare some tea, of which I had never stood so much in need. The host left to make the necessary preparations.
"Where is our guide?" I said to Savelitch.
"Here, your honour," answered a voice from above.
I looked up at the loft, and saw a black beard and two sparkling eyes.
"Well, art thou frozen?"
"How is one not to be frozen with nothing to wear but a worn armyak?[2] I had a touloup—but why should I conceal the truth?—I pledged it last night at the public-house; the frost did not seem to be very severe."
At that moment the host returned with the boiling samovar;[3] I offered our guide a cup of tea; the moujik descended from the loft. His exterior struck me as being remarkable. He was about forty, of middle height, lean and broad-shouldered. A few gray hairs mingled with
