noise reached us distinctly in spite of the windows being hermetically
sealed with putty for the winter. At first we thought it was the regular
train of carts that climb Institutska Oulitza every evening at six
o'clock carrying provisions to the barracks. But the rumble and creak
persisted so long that I went to the window at last to see why there
were so many more carts than usual.

There was a procession of carts, but instead of going up the hill in the
direction of the barracks, it was descending the hill, and instead of
soldiers in clumsy uniforms, peasants in bell-shaped sheepskin coats
walked by their horses' heads, snapping the long lash whips they carried
in their hands. I recognized the covered gypsy wagons and the open carts
with their bulky loads. It was too dark to see distinctly, but I knew
they were refugees by the strings of kettles along the sides of the
carts, which caught the electric light in coppery flashes. And in the
open wagons I could see the pale disks of faces. As I watched, the
procession came to a stand-still and the drivers collected in little
groups under the white globes of the street lamps. I went outdoors and
crossed the street to them.

I approached a group of three men.

"Good-evening," I said.

"Good-evening, Panna," they replied.

"Have you come far?"

"Far? I should say we've been two months on the road," replied the
best-dressed man of the three. He had fur cuffs and collar on his long
sheepskin coat, and his boots were strong and well made.

"Can you tell me where we can get some tobacco?" he asked.

I directed him down the street a little way. He took a piece of silver
from a leather purse he wore round his neck, and gave it to one of his
companions, who left on the errand. The other man went round to the tail
of the cart and took down two bags of grain for the horses' supper.

"Good horses you have there," I said, to say something.

"Yes, indeed; the best horses a man ever had; less good ones would have
died on the road long ago. I bought them for fifty roubles apiece, and I
wouldn't take two hundred and fifty for them to-day. But, then, they're
all I have left of back there." He spoke in a quiet voice, scratching
his stubby, unshaven face, absent-mindedly.

"Is he traveling with you?" I asked, pointing to the man who was
slinging the grain-bags round the horses' necks.

"Yes. I picked him up along the road. His horse had died under him and
he counted himself no l