"Go along," said Vronsky, putting on the coat his valet handed to
him.

"Where are you off to?" asked Yashvin. "Oh, here are your three
horses," he added, seeing the carriage drive up.

"To the stables, and I've got to see Bryansky, too, about the
horses," said Vronsky.

Vronsky had as a fact promised to call at Bryansky's, some eight
miles from Peterhof, and to bring him some money owing for some
horses; and he hoped to have time to get that in too. But his
comrades were at once aware that he was not only going there.

Petritsky, still humming, winked and made a pout with his lips,
as though he would say: "Oh, yes, we know your Bryansky."

"Mind you're not late!" was Yashvin's only comment; and to change
the conversation: "How's my roan? is he doing all right?" he
inquired, looking out of the window at the middle one of the
three horses, which he had sold Vronsky.

"Stop!" cried Petritsky to Vronsky as he was just going out.
"Your brother left a letter and a note for you. Wait a bit;
where are they?"

Vronsky stopped.

"Well, where are they?"

"Where are they? That's just the question!" said Petritsky
solemnly, moving his forefinger upwards from his nose.

"Come, tell me; this is silly!" said Vronsky smiling.