Vladya wanted to take with him to the village his new English fishing-rod, bought with his saved-up money. And he wanted to take something else. But this would have occupied room in the cart and so Vladya carried all his goods back into the house.
The weather was moderate, the sun was beginning to decline. The road, wet with the morning rain, was free of dust. The cart rolled evenly over the fine stones, carrying its four passengers from the town; the well-fed grey cob trotted along as if their weight were nothing, and the lazy, taciturn driver, Ignaty, drove the cob on a light rein.
Peredonov was seated beside Marta. They had made him a wide seat, so that Marta's was very uncomfortable. But he did not notice this. And even if he had noticed it, he would have thought it quite proper, since he was the guest.
Peredonov felt on very good terms with himself. He decided to talk very amiably to Marta, to joke with her and to entertain her. This is how he began:
"Well, are you going to rebel soon?"
"Why rebel?" asked Marta.
"You Poles are always getting ready to rebel—but it's useless."
"I'm not thinking about it at all," said Marta, "and there's no one among us who wants to rebel."
"Oh, you only say that—you really hate the Russians."
"We haven't any such idea," said Vladya, turning to Peredonov from the front seat.