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"What's the family?" "Vlasov." He nodded his head, got his tobacco pouch, whipped out his pipe and filled it with tobacco. He spoke brokenly: "I've heard of him. My nephew knows him. He, too, is in prison my nephew Yevchenko. Have you heard of him? And my family is Godun. They'll soon shut all the young people in prison, and then there'll be plenty and comfort for us old folks.
"Pavel Vlasov?" inquired the officer, screwing up his eyes; and when Pavel silently nodded his head, he announced, twirling his mustache: "I have to make a search in your house. Get up, old woman!" "Who is there?" he asked, turning suddenly and making a dash for the door. "Your name?" His voice was heard from the other room.
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