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But she understood that she had said too much, because the Little Russian hastened to interpose in order to conciliate Nikolay. "Let him peer! He has leisure. That's his way of killing time." "No hold on!" said Nikolay. "THERE! He is to blame!" "To blame for what?" the Little Russian asked brusquely. "Because he's a fool?" But Vyesovshchikov did not stop to answer and walked away.
Directed against the breasts of the people, although not yet touching them, they drove them apart, pushing one man after the other away from the crowd and breaking it up. Behind her the mother heard the trampling noise of those who were running away. Suppressed, excited voices cried: "Disperse, boys!" "Vlasov, run!" "Back, Pavel!" "Drop the banner, Pavel!" Vyesovshchikov said glumly.
Suddenly I see Nilovna running; off I am, after you." "How did you make your escape?" Vyesovshchikov sat down awkwardly on the edge of the sofa and pressed Yegor's hand. "I don't know how," he said in an embarrassed manner. "Simply a chance. I was taking my airing, and the prisoners began to beat the overseer of the jail.
"Bring in the prisoner Vyesovshchikov!" he commanded, and began to read aloud a document which he raised to his face. Nikolay was brought into the room. "Hats off!" shouted the officer, interrupting his reading. Rybin went up to Vlasova, and patting her on the back, said in an undertone: "Don't get excited, mother!"
I sat down in the cemetery and enjoyed the fresh air. One thought came into my head " "One?" asked Yegor. Fetching breath, he added: "I suppose it won't feel crowded there." Vyesovshchikov laughed without taking offense, and shook his head. "Well, my brain's not so empty now as it used to be. And you, Yegor Ivanovich, still sick?" "Each one does what he can.
He again raised his head, and taking in the broad figure of Nikolay with a searching stare, he drawled: "Well, well, pick up the books." One gendarme bent down, and, looking slantwise at Vyesovshchikov, began to collect the books scattered on the floor. "Why doesn't Nikolay keep quiet?" the mother whispered to Pavel. He shrugged his shoulders. The Little Russian drooped his head.
When she had no literature about her, she knew how to arouse the suspicion of the guards and spies. They would halt her, and she would pretend to feel insulted, and would remonstrate with them, and then walk off blushing, proud of her clever ruse. She began to enjoy the fun of the game. Vyesovshchikov was not taken back to the factory, and went to work for a lumberman.
She tapped her fingers on her cheeks to picture to him the pockmarked face of Vyesovshchikov. "He's all right! The boy is alive and well. He'll soon get his position you remember how he always asked for hard work?" Pavel understood, and gratefully nodded his head. "Why, of course I remember!" he answered, with a cheery smile in his eyes.
"I think," continued the Little Russian, "that each of us has gone through that, each of us has walked with bare feet over broken glass, each of us in his dark hour has gasped for breath as you are now." "You have nothing to tell me!" said Vyesovshchikov slowly. "Nothing! My heart is so it seems to me as if wolves were howling there!" "And I don't want to say anything to you.
Don't be afraid! Whoever it is will reap the harvest of his own rashness. Let's go quick, or else they'll take him away!" The mother walked on without asking herself why she went, and shaken by the thought of Vyesovshchikov. "There he's done it!" Her mind was held fast by the one idea.
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