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.