"Hey, there, good man," the driver hailed him, "tell us, do you happen
to know the road?"
"This is the road," replied the traveller. "I am on firm ground; but
what the devil good does that do you?"
"Listen, my little peasant," said I to him, "do you know this part of
the country? Can you guide us to some place where we may pass the
night?"
"Do I know this country? Thank heaven," rejoined the stranger, "I have
travelled here, on horse and afoot, far and wide. But just look at this
weather! One cannot keep the road. Better stay here and wait; perhaps
the hurricane will cease and the sky will clear, and we shall find the
road by starlight."
His coolness gave me courage, and I resigned myself to pass the night on
the steppe, commending myself to the care of Providence, when suddenly
the stranger, seating himself on the driver's seat, said--
"Grace be to God, there _is_ a house not far off. Turn to the right, and
go on."
"Why should I go to the right?" retorted my driver, ill-humouredly.
"How do you know where the road is that you are so ready to say, 'Other
people's horses, other people's harness--whip away!'"
It seemed to me the driver was right.
"Why," said I to the stranger, "do you think a house is not far off?"
"The wind blew from that direction," replied he, "and I smelt smoke, a
sure sign that a house is near.
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