Having put it on he sighed deeply, thanked his hosts, said good-bye, and went out of the warm bright room into the cold dark passage, through which the wind was howling and where snow was blowing through the cracks of the shaking door, and from there into the yard.

Petrushka stood in his sheepskin in the middle of the yard by his horse, repeating some lines from Paulson’s primer. He said with a smile:

‘Storms with mist the sky conceal,

Snowy circles wheeling wild.

Now like savage beast ‘twill howl,

And now ‘tis wailing like a child.’

Nikita nodded approvingly as he arranged the reins.