The Torrents Of Spring

‘But what will he think?’
‘What does it matter to us? Besides, he won’t think at all; he’ll drink
beer – that’s all. Come, Sanin (it was the first time she had used his surname
alone), on, gallop!’
When they reached the inn, Maria Nikolaevna called the groom up
and told him what she wished of him. The groom, a man of English extraction
and English temperament, raised his hand to the beak of his cap
without a word, jumped off his horse, and took him by the bridle.
‘Well, now we are free as the birds of the air!’ cried Maria Nikolaevna.
‘Where shall we go. North, south, east, or west? Look – I’m like the Hungarian
king at his coronation (she pointed her whip in each direction in
turn). All is ours! No, do you know what: see, those glorious mountains
– and that forest! Let’s go there, to the mountains, to the mountains!’
‘In die Berge wo die Freiheit thront!’
She turned off the high-road and galloped along a narrow untrodden
track, which certainly seemed to lead straight to the hills. Sanin galloped
after her.
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