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The Little Russian swayed his body, and with a broad smile on his face was about to say something, when the irritating voice of Nikolay again rang out: "This is the first time we have seen scoundrels here!" Silence ensued. There was a moment of breathless suspense. The scar on the mother's face whitened, and her right eyebrow traveled upward. Rybin's black beard quivered strangely.
A confused but subdued clamor drowned Rybin's voice. "Don't argue, uncle. You're up against the authorities." "Don't be angry, your Honor. The man's out of his wits." "Keep still, you funny fellow!" "Here, they'll soon take you to the city!" "There's more law there!"
When he spoke all other sounds were drowned by his voice; but above the slow, calm flow of Rybin's dull utterance were heard the strokes of the pendulum and the low creaking of the frost, as of sharp claws scratching the walls of the house. "I will speak to you in my own way, in the words of a stoker. God is like fire. He does not strengthen anything. He cannot.
"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.
People, you say? A-a " Suddenly he dealt Rybin a quick, sharp blow in the face. "You won't kill the truth with your fist!" shouted Rybin, drawing on him. "And you have no right to beat me, you dog!" "I won't dare, I suppose?" the police commissioner drawled. Again he waved his hand, aiming at Rybin's head; Rybin ducked; the blow missed, and the police commissioner almost toppled over.
How horrible you look!" shouted a woman's voice. The policemen stepped in front of the crowd, which increased in size. Rybin's voice sounded thick: "Peasants, I'm not a thief; I don't steal; I don't set things on fire. I only fight against falsehood. That's why they seized me. Have you heard of the true books in which the truth is written about our peasant life?
He looked at Nikolay mistrustfully and skeptically. Nikolay smiled. "Don't get angry," said the mother jokingly. Nikolay thoughtfully exclaimed: "How shall we get the leaflets about Rybin's arrest to the village?" Ignaty grew attentive. "I'll speak to Vyesovshchikov to-day." "Is there a leaflet already?" asked Ignaty. "Yes." "Give it to me. I'll take it."
Somebody's young face came to her memory, somebody's resonant voice shouted, "That's the mother of Pavel Vlasov!" Sasha's eyes flashed joyously and tenderly. Rybin's dark, tall figure loomed up, the bronzed, firm face of her son smiled. Nikolay blinked in embarrassment; and suddenly everything was stirred with a deep but light breath. "Nikolay was right," said Liudmila, entering again.
"He's saying this for me," the mother decided quickly. "The people will build other nests for the truth; and a day will come when the eagles will fly from them into freedom. The people will emancipate themselves." A woman brought a pail of water and, wailing and groaning, began to wash Rybin's face. Her thin, piteous voice mixed with Mikhail's words and hindered the mother from understanding them.
It had a ring that won him confidence. "So. Everybody prates about you. My masters call you a heretic; you don't go to church. I don't, either. Then the papers appeared, those leaflets. Was it you that thought them out?" "Yes, I!" answered Pavel, without taking his eyes off Rybin's face. Rybin also looked steadily into Pavel's eyes. "You alone!" exclaimed the mother, coming into the room.
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