But since, at moments which call for a hasty decision, a Russian is quick to discover what may conceivably be the best course to take, our coachman put away from him all ulterior reasoning, and, turning to the right at the next cross-road, shouted, "Hi, my beauties!" and set off at a gallop.

Never for a moment did he stop to think whither the road might lead him! It was long before the clouds had discharged their burden, and, meanwhile, the dust on the road became kneaded into mire, and the horses' task of pulling the britchka heavier and heavier.

Also, Chichikov had taken alarm at his continued failure to catch sight of Sobakevitch's country house.

According to his calculations, it ought to have been reached long ago.

He gazed about him on every side, but the darkness was too dense for the eye to pierce.
"Selifan!" he exclaimed, leaning forward in the britchka.
"What is it, barin ?" replied the coachman.
"Can you see the country house anywhere ?" "No, barin." After which, with a flourish of the whip, the man broke into a sort of endless, drawling song.