h, but nothing came of it, and
Uncle Mitai had proved useless. "Hold on, hold on!" shouted the peasants
again. "Do you, Uncle Mitai, mount the trace horse, while Uncle Minai
mounts the shaft horse." Whereupon Uncle Minai--a peasant with a pair of
broad shoulders, a beard as black as charcoal, and a belly like the
huge samovar in which sbiten is brewed for all attending a local
market--hastened to seat himself upon the shaft horse, which almost
sank to the ground beneath his weight. "NOW they will go all right!" the
muzhiks exclaimed. "Lay it on hot, lay it on hot! Give that sorrel horse
the whip, and make him squirm like a koramora [22]." Nevertheless, the
affair in no way progressed; wherefore, seeing that flogging was of
no use, Uncles Mitai and Minai BOTH mounted the sorrel, while Andrusha
seated himself upon the trace horse. Then the coachman himself lost
patience, and sent the two Uncles about their business--and not before
it was time, seeing that the horses were steaming in a way that made it
clear that, unless they were first winded, they would never reach the
next posthouse. So they were given a moment's rest. That done, they
moved off of their own accord!

Throughout, Chichikov had been gazing at the young unknown with
great attention, and had even made one or two attempts to enter into
conversation with her: but without success. Indeed, when the ladies
departed, it was as in a dream that he saw the girl's comely presence,
the delicate features of her face, and the slender outline of her form
vanish from his sight; it was as in a dream that once more he saw only
the road, the britchka, the three horses, Selifan, and the bare, empty
fields. Everywhere in life--yes, even in the plainest, the dingiest
ranks of society, as much as in those which are uniformly bright and
presentable--a man may happen upon some phenomenon which is so entirely
different from those which have hitherto fallen to his lot. Everywhere
through the web of sorrow of which our lives are woven there may
suddenly break a clear, radiant thread of joy; even as suddenly along
the street of some poor, poverty-stricken village which, ordinarily,
sees nought but a farm waggon there may came bowling a gorgeous coach
with plated harness, picturesque horses, and a glitter of glass, so that
the peasants stand gaping, and do not resume their caps until long after
the strange equipage has become lost to sight. Thus the golden-haired
maiden makes a sudden,