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Pavel and Andrey scarcely ever went to bed. They came home just before the morning whistle sounded, tired, hoarse, and pale. The mother knew that they held meetings in the woods and the marsh; that squads of mounted police galloped around the village, that spies were crawling all over, holding up and searching single workingmen, dispersing groups, and sometimes making an arrest.
"How do I know, Pavel Ivanich? The likes of us don't hear of it." A long time passed in silence. Goussiev thought, dreamed, drank water; it was difficult to speak, difficult to hear, and he was afraid of being spoken to. One hour passed, a second, a third; evening came, then night; but he noticed nothing as he sat dreaming of the snow.
Pelageya Ivanovna's footsteps are heard through the door. Pavel Vassilitch winks towards the door and says: "There's mother coming. Let's get to work. Well, so you see, my boy," he says, raising his voice. "This fraction has to be multiplied by that one. Well, and to do that you have to take the numerator of the first fraction. . ." "Come to tea!" cries Pelageya Ivanovna.
What'll Afanasey Lukitch say? Why, he'll drive us all out of the light of day.... Why are you fellows standing still? Take the uninvited guest in hand and show him out of the house, so that not a trace be left of him. 'Rogatchov! Vassily Ivanovitch shouted menacingly. 'You are crazy, Efimovna, you are shaming me, come, come... said Pavel Afanasievitch.
One day the incident took place in the morning Pavel Petrovitch felt better and moved from his bed to the sofa, while Nikolai Petrovitch, having satisfied himself he was better, went off to the threshing-floor. Fenitchka brought him a cup of tea, and setting it down on a little table, was about to withdraw. Pavel Petrovitch detained her.
"And how are you?" "So so. Yegor Ivanovich died," she said mechanically. "Yes?" exclaimed Pavel, and dropped his head. "At the funeral the police got up a fight and arrested one man," the mother continued in her simple-hearted way. The thin-lipped assistant overseer of the prison jumped from his chair and mumbled quickly: "Cut that out; it's forbidden! Why don't you understand?
Your heroism is not worth a cent." Vlasova began to wipe the tears from her face in haste. For fear a serious quarrel should break out between the Little Russian and Pavel, she quickly opened the door and entered the kitchen, shivering, terrified, and distressed. "Ugh! How cold! And it's spring, too!"
Klimov no longer heard him; he was thinking miserably of his soft, comfortable bed, of a bottle of cold water, of his sister Katya, who was so good at making one comfortable, soothing, giving one water. He even smiled when the vision of his orderly Pavel, taking off his heavy stifling boots and putting water on the little table, flitted through his imagination.
The mother listened, looked, and once again, before her in the darkness, stretched the bright streak of the road that Pavel was going, and all those with whom he walked. When they had concluded their supper, they sat around the fire, which consumed the wood quickly. Behind them hung the darkness, embracing forest and sky.
Long live the first of May, the holiday of freemen!" The crowd drew closer. Pavel waved the flag. It spread out in the air and sailed forward, sunlit, smiling, red, and glowing. "Let us renounce the old world!" resounded Fedya Mazin's ringing voice; and scores of voices took up the cry. It floated as on a mighty wave. "Let us shake its dust from our feet."
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