Even then, on account of the darkness, Michael could not see them, yet he heard distinctly their words.
This is what he heard, and what caused him some surprise: "Are you coming back, blockhead ?" "You shall have a taste of the knout at the next stage." "Do you hear, you devil's postillion! Hullo! Below!" "This is how a carriage takes you in this country!" "Yes, this is what you call a telga!" "Oh, that abominable driver! He goes on and does not appear to have discovered that he has left us behind!" "To deceive me, too! Me, an honorable Englishman! I will make a complaint at the chancellor's office and have the fellow hanged." This was said in a very angry tone, but was suddenly interrupted by a burst of laughter from his companion, who exclaimed, "Well! this is a good joke, I must say." "You venture to laugh!" said the Briton angrily.
"Certainly, my dear confrere, and that most heartily.

'Pon my word I never saw anything to come up to it." Just then a crashing clap of thunder re-echoed through the defile, and then died away among the distant peaks.

When the sound of the last growl had ceased, the merry voice went on: "Yes, it undoubtedly is a good joke.

This machine certainly never came from France." "Nor from England," replied the other.
On the road, by the light of the flashes, Michael saw, twenty yards from him, two travelers, seated side by side in a most peculiar vehicle, the wheels of which were deeply imbedded in the ruts formed in the road.
He approached them, the one grinning from ear to ear, and the other gloomily contemplating his situation, and recognized them as the two reporters who had been his companions on board the Caucasus.
"Good-morning to you, sir," cried the Frenchman.

"Delighted to see you here.