Come, for God's sake!' she says, 'and
the horses have been sent for you.'... Well, that's all right. But she
was twenty miles from the town, and it was midnight out of doors, and
the roads in such a state, my word! And as she was poor herself, one
could not expect more than two silver rubles, and even that
problematic; and perhaps it might only be a matter of a roll of linen
and a sack of oatmeal in _payment_. However, duty, you know, before
everything: a fellow-creature may be dying. I hand over my cards at
once to Kalliopin, the member of the provincial commission, and return
home. I look; a wretched little trap was standing at the steps, with
peasant's horses, fat--too fat--and their coat as shaggy as felt; and
the coachman sitting with his cap off out of respect. Well, I think to
myself, 'It's clear, my friend, these patients aren't rolling in
riches.'... You smile; but I tell you, a poor man like me has to take
everything into consideration... If the coachman sits like a prince,
and doesn't touch his cap, and even sneers at you behind his beard,
and flicks his whip--then you may bet on six rubles. But this case, I
saw, had a very different air.
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