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"Denisov! We're here! He's asleep," he added, leaning forward

with his whole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the

speed of the sleigh.

Denisov gave no answer.

"There's the corner at the crossroads, where the cabman, Zakhar,

has his stand, and there's Zakhar himself and still the same

horse! And here's the little shop where we used to buy

gingerbread! Can't you hurry up? Now then!"

"Which house is it?" asked the driver.

"Why, that one, right at the end, the big one. Don't you see?

That's our house," said Rostov. "Of course, it's our house!

Denisov, Denisov! We're almost there!"

Denisov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer.

"Dmitri," said Rostov to his valet on the box, "those lights are

in our house, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir, and there's a light in your father's study."