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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Now, Sofya," said Nikolay after dinner, "here's another job for you. You know we undertook to publish a newspaper for the village. But our connection with the people there was broken, thanks to the latest arrests. No one but Pelagueya Nilovna can show us the man who will undertake the distribution of the newspapers. You go with her. Do it as soon as possible." "Very well," said Sofya.
You don't recognize me?" "Is it you?" exclaimed Nilovna, with a sudden access of delight. "Yegor Ivanovich?" "The very same identical one!" replied he, bowing his large head with its long hair. There was a good-natured smile on his face, and a clear, caressing look in his small gray eyes. He was like a samovar rotund, short, with thick neck and short arms.
The boy rose, looked inquiringly at Liudmila, prettily screwing up his eyes. "Open the door, Seryozha. Who do you suppose it is?" And with a composed gesture she let her hand into the pocket of the skirt, saying to the mother: "If it is the gendarmes, you, Pelagueya Nilovna, stand here in this corner, and you, Ser " "I know. The dark passage," the little boy answered softly, disappearing.
The mother divined that something was expected of her. She understood that she could be useful to her son, and she hastened to ask: "Well, now? What are we to do?" Samoylov stood in the doorway to answer. "Pelagueya Nilovna, you know Marya Korsunova, the peddler." "I do. Well?" "Speak to her; see if you can't get her to smuggle in our wares." "We could pay her, you know," interjected Yegor.
"It was I who didn't waste time in completing the picture of the upset. But never mind, Nilovna, never mind! I think they're going to come again. That's the reason I didn't pick it all up. Well, how was your trip?" The mother started at the question. Rybin arose before her; she felt guilty at not having told of him immediately. Bending over a chair, she moved up to Nikolay and began her narrative.
Let's shake hands, Nilovna. And that fellow he certainly behaved stupidly. Do you know where he lives?" Nikolay gave him the address. "I must go to him to-morrow. He's a fine fellow, eh?" "Very!" "We must keep him alive; he has good brains.
"Go home, Nilovna! Go, mother! You're all worn out," said Sizov loudly. He was pale, his disheveled beard shook. Suddenly knitting his brows he threw a stern glance about him on all, drew himself up to his full height, and said distinctly: "My son Matvey was crushed in the factory. You know it! But were he alive, I myself would have sent him into the lines of those along with them.
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