‘To Tara. Where do you come from?’
‘From the hamlet of Zalivina. Give me sixty kopeks (tenpence) and I will take you to Tara, for I am going there myself.’
‘No; that is too dear, but I will give you fifty kopeks if you like to take me for that.’
‘Well, so be it; look sharp, my friend!’
I seated myself beside him, and we started at a gallop. My companion was in a hurry to get home; the road covered by snow, which the frost had hardened, was as smooth as a mirror, and the piercing cold seemed to give wings to the horses. At the end of half an hour we were at Tara, where my peasant put me down in one of the streets of the town and went his way. Now alone, I went up to the first posting-house, and called in Russian fashion through the window, as loud as I could:
‘Have you any horses?’
‘Where are they to go?’
‘To the fair at Irbite.’
‘Yes, we have some.’
‘A pair?’