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"Do you hear how he's walking?" said Tikhon, drawing the

architect's attention to the sound of the prince's footsteps.

"Stepping flat on his heels-we know what that means...."

However, at nine o'clock the prince, in his velvet coat with a

sable collar and cap, went out for his usual walk. It had snowed

the day before and the path to the hothouse, along which the

prince was in the habit of walking, had been swept: the marks of

the broom were still visible in the snow and a shovel had been

left sticking in one of the soft snowbanks that bordered both

sides of the path. The prince went through the conservatories,

the serfs' quarters, and the outbuildings, frowning and silent.

"Can a sleigh pass?" he asked his overseer, a venerable man,

resembling his master in manners and looks, who was accompanying

him back to the house.

"The snow is deep. I am having the avenue swept, your honor."