Chapter 129: The Post

The Post It was three o’clock in the night. The postman, ready to set off, in his cap and his coat, with a rusty sword in his hand, was standing near the door, waiting for the driver to finish putting the mail bags into the cart which had just been brought round with three horses. The sleepy postmaster sat at his table, which was like a counter; he was filling up a form and saying: “My nephew, the student, wants to go to the station at once. So look here, Ignatyev, let him get into the mai…