A post-sledge was gliding rapidly over the frozen road towards Viletna; and as it neared the village, a thin worn man, with white hair, who was sitting in it alone, leant forward and touched the driver. "I want to go to the great house. You remember?" "Oh, you're going to see Mikhail? He hasn't come to the great house yet, though. It's all being done up." "No, I'm going to Madame Olsheffsky's!"