The Little Russian spoke, his eyes beaming, his love larger than
the love of the others:
"Comrades, it would be well to write to them over there! Let them
know that they have friends living in far-away Russia, workingmen
who confess and believe in the same religion as they, comrades who
pursue the same aims as they, and who rejoice in their victories!"
And all, with smiles on their faces dreamily spoke at length of
the Germans, the Italians, the Englishmen, and the Swedes, of the
working people of all countries, as of their friends, as of people
near to their hearts, whom without seeing they loved and respected,
whose joys they shared, whose pain they felt.
In the small room a vast feeling was born of the universal kinship
of the workers of the world, at the same time its masters and its
slaves, who had already been freed from the bondage of prejudice
and who felt themselves the new masters of life. This feeling
blended all into a single soul; it moved the mother, and, although
inaccessible to her, it straightened and emboldened her, as it were,
with its force, with its joys, with its triumphant, youthful vigor,
intoxicating, caressing, full of hope.
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