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Updated: May 10, 2025
Then Efim deliberately doffed his hat and began crossing himself. The postilion and all the other servants did the same. "Off, in God's name!" said Efim, putting on his hat. "Start!" The postilion started the horses, the off pole horse tugged at his collar, the high springs creaked, and the body of the coach swayed.
Efim, the old coachman, who was the only one the countess trusted to drive her, sat perched up high on the box and did not so much as glance round at what was going on behind him.
'I bought a horse... yesterday, faltered the dying man, 'off Efim... Sitchovsky... paid earnest money... so the horse is mine.... Give it... to my wife.... They began to move him on to the mat.... He trembled all over, like a wounded bird, and stiffened.... 'He is dead, muttered the peasants. We mounted our horses in silence and rode away. The death of poor Maksim set me musing.
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