[2] gospodi-bátiushka! Literally, Lord, little father.
II.
At this moment we heard behind us the bells of a troïka which was rapidly overtaking us.
"A courier's bell," said my driver. "There's one such for every station."
And, in fact, the bell of the courier's troïka, the sound of which now came clearly to me on the wind, was peculiarly beautiful,—clear, sonorous, deep, and jangling a little. As I then knew, this was a huntsman's team; three bells,—one large one in the centre, with the crimson tone, as it is called, and two small ones tuned in thirds. The sound of this triad and the tinkling fifth, ringing through the air, was extraordinarily effective and strangely pleasant in this dark desert steppe.
"The posht is coming," said my driver when the foremost of the three troikas drew up in line with ours. "Well, how is the road? is it possible to go on?" he cried to the last of the drivers. But the yamshchík only shouted to his horses, and made no reply.
The sound of the bells quickly died away on the wind, almost as soon as the post-team passed us.
Of course my driver felt ashamed.
"Well, you shall go, bárin," he said to me. "People have made their way through, now their tracks will be fresh."