Thepipewentout。Thepostmastercameoutofthepost-officejustashewas，inhiswaistcoatandslippers；shrinkingfromthenightdampnessandclearinghisthroat，hewalkedbesidethecartandsaid:
“Well，Godspeed！Givemylovetoyourmother，Mihailo。Givemylovetothemall。Andyou，Ignatyev，mindyoudon’tforgettogivetheparceltoBystretsov。Off！“
Thedrivertookthereinsinonehand，blewhisnose，and，arrangingtheseatunderhimself，clickedtothehorses。
“Givethemmylove，“thepostmasterrepeated。
Thebigbellclangedsomethingtothelittlebells，thelittlebellsgaveitafriendlyanswer。Thecartsqueaked，moved。Thebigbelllamented，thelittlebellslaughed。Standingupinhisseatthedriverlashedtherestlesstracehorsetwice，andthecartrumbledwithahollowsoundalongthedustyroad。Thelittletownwasasleep。Housesandtreesstoodblackoneachsideofthebroadstreet，andnotalightwastobeseen。Narrowcloudsstretchedhereandthereoverthestar-spangledsky，andwherethedawnwouldsoonbecomingtherewasanarrowcrescentmoon；