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He pronounced clearly the first words, but what followed seemed to creep without sound from his thin, gray lips. "I open " "See!" whispered Sizov, nudging the mother softly and arising.
"Keep still!" exclaimed the functionary, shaking his finger at him. Sizov nodded his head sullenly. But the mother kept her gaze fastened unwaveringly on the judges, and saw that they got more and more excited, conversing with one another in indistinct voices.
I have the money already, but I might go per etappe. You know I am also awaiting a sentence. Evidently they are going to send me to Siberia, too. I will then declare that I desire to be exiled to the same locality that he will be." Behind them was heard the voice of Sizov: "Then give him regards from me, from Sizov. He will know. I'm Fedya Mazin's uncle."
And Bukin's brother, waving his hand, assured the younger brother: "Merely justice, and nothing else! That they cannot admit." The younger Bukin answered: "You look out for the starling. I love him." "Come back home, and you'll find him in perfect trim." "I've nothing to do there." And Sizov held his nephew's hand, and slowly said: "So, Fedor; so you've started on your trip. So."
The mother saw that all heads were turned in the same direction, toward the blacksmith's wall, where Sizov, Makhotin, Vyalov, and five or six influential, solid workingmen were standing on a high pile of old iron heaped on the red brick paving of the court, and waving their hands. "Vlasov is coming!" somebody shouted. "Vlasov? Bring him along!"
"He lies!" whispered Sizov. She could not have said it. She understood that the prosecuting attorney charged all the comrades with guilt, not singling out any one of them. After having spoken about Pavel, he spoke about Fedya, and having put him side by side with Pavel, he persistently thrust Bukin up against them.
He made a few quick, short steps, bowed to the judges, and sat down, rubbing his hands. The marshal of the nobility nodded his head to him, rolling his eyes; the city mayor extended his hand, and the district elder stroked his belly and smiled. But the judges apparently were not delighted by the speech, and did not stir. "The scabby devil!" Sizov whispered the oath.
Another one, tapping her lightly on the shoulder, said with assurance: "Those books are thrown across the fence, I say!" Old man Sizov came up to her and looking around said in an undertone: "Did you hear, mother?" "What?" "About the pamphlets. They've appeared again. They've just scattered them all over like salt over bread. Much good those arrests and searches have done!
On the benches back of her the mother felt there was animation; the people began to whisper to one another about something and stirred, sighing as if freeing themselves from the cobweb spun about them by the gray words of the porcelain-faced man. "Do you hear how they speak?" whispered Sizov. "Yes." "Fedor Mazin, answer!" "I don't want to!" said Fedya clearly, jumping to his feet.
And behind the judges the Czar in a red military coat, with an indifferent white face looked down from his portrait over their heads. On his face some insect was creeping, or a cobweb was trembling. "Exile!" Sizov said with a sigh of relief, dropping back on the bench. "Well, of course! Thank God! I heard that they were going to get hard labor. Never mind, mother, that's nothing."
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