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The shouts of the crowd sounded pacificatory, entreating; they blended into a thick, indistinct babel, in which there was something hopeless and pitiful. The policemen led Rybin up the steps of the town hall and disappeared with him behind the doors. People began to depart in a hurry. The mother saw the blue-eyed peasant go across the square and look at her sidewise.
"Only here the House of God is the whole earth." "The whole earth," the mother repeated, shaking her head thoughtfully. "It's so good that it's hard to believe." They walked and talked about Rybin, about the sick man, about the young peasants who were so attentively silent, and who so awkwardly but eloquently expressed a feeling of grateful friendship by little attentions to the women.
"Wait, Pasha, wait!" she muttered, panting for breath. "I am a human being. I feel. Wait." There was a loud noise of some one entering the porch. Both of them started and looked at each other. "If it's the police coming for Andrey " Pavel whispered. "I know nothing nothing!" the mother whispered back. "Oh, God!" The door opened slowly, and bending to pass through, Rybin strode in heavily.
He will burn everything up, as if after a plague, so that all traces of his wrongs will vanish in ashes." "And then he will get in our way," Pavel observed softly. "It's our business to prevent that. We are nearer to him; he trusts us; he will follow us." "Do you know, Rybin proposes that we should publish a newspaper for the village?" "We must do it, too. As soon as possible."
It is necessary to shout it aloud, brothers, it is necessary to shout it aloud!" He fell into a fit of coughing, bending and all a-shiver. "Why?" asked Yefim. "My misery is my own affair. Just look at my joy." "Don't interrupt," Rybin admonished. "You yourself said a man mustn't boast of his misfortune," observed Yefim with a frown. "That's a different thing.
She was pleased that he was so calm and talked so simply; not angrily, not swearing, like the others. Broken exclamations, wrathful words and oaths descended like hail on iron. Pavel looked down on the people from his elevation, and with wide-open eyes seemed to be seeking something among them. "Delegates!" "Let Sizov speak!" "Vlasov!" "Rybin! He has a terrible tongue!"
And if they do find a crumb, they snatch that away, too, and give you a punch in the face besides." Rybin looked around, bent down to Pavel, his hand resting on the table: "I even got sick and faint when I saw that life again. I looked around me but I couldn't! However, I conquered my repulsion. 'Fiddlesticks! I said. 'I won't let my feelings get the better of me. I'll stay here.
Young people were circling around her, noisy, vigorous, full of life. Her son's thoughtful and earnest face was always before her, and he seemed to be the master and creator of this thrilling and noble life. Now he was gone, everything was gone. In the whole day, no one except the disagreeable Rybin had called. Beyond the window, the dense, cold rain was sighing and knocking at the panes.
"They will show no mercy," the peasant assented calmly, and resumed his examination of the books. "Drink your tea, Yefim; we've got to leave soon," said Rybin. "Directly." And Yefim asked again: "Revolution is an uprising, isn't it?" Andrey came, red, perspiring, and dejected. He shook Yefim's hand without saying anything, sat down by Rybin's side, and smiled as he looked at him.
When the bees buzzed about the mother's face, she solicitously drove them away. Rybin came up and asked: "Is she asleep?" "Yes." He was silent for a moment, looked fixedly at the calm sleeping face, and said softly: "She is probably the first mother who has followed in the footsteps of her son the first." "Let's not disturb her; let's go away," suggested Sofya. "Well, we have to work.
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