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:
“Thank God, a dwelling is near. Turn to the right and go on.”
“Why should I turn to the right?” said the coachman, sulkily, “where do you see a road?”
“Must I say to you these horses, as well as the harness, belong to another? then use the whip without respite.”
I thought my coachman’s view rational.