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And remembering Godun, she almost prayerfully reflected, "It seems I'm not the only one who lives for the new. It's a big fire if it so cleanses and burns all who see it." Then she thought of her son, "If he only agreed!" On Sunday, taking leave of Pavel in the waiting room of the prison, she felt a little lump of paper in her hand.
"What's the family?" "Vlasov." He nodded his head, got his tobacco pouch, whipped out his pipe and filled it with tobacco. He spoke brokenly: "I've heard of him. My nephew knows him. He, too, is in prison my nephew Yevchenko. Have you heard of him? And my family is Godun. They'll soon shut all the young people in prison, and then there'll be plenty and comfort for us old folks.
You liked Yevchenko, a blacksmith, quite a dude." Nikolay nodded his head. "Godun has arranged everything all right. But I'm beginning to doubt his success. The passages in the prison are used by all the inmates, and I think when the prisoners see the ladder many will want to run " She closed her eyes and was silent for a while. The mother moved nearer to her. "They'll hinder one another."
All the rest Godun took on himself. Rybin will have to go through only one ward of the city. Vyesovshchikov will meet him on the street, all disguised, of course. He'll throw an overcoat over him, give him a hat, and show him the way. I'll wait for him, change his clothes and lead him off." "Not bad! And who's this Godun?" "You've seen him! You gave talks to the locksmiths in his place."
"Oh, I remember! A droll old man." "He's a soldier who served his time a roofer, a man of little education, but with an inexhaustible fund of hatred for every kind of violence and for all men of violence. A bit of a philosopher!" The mother listened in silence to her, and something indistinct slowly dawned upon her. "Godun wants to free his nephew you remember him?
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