And when the mother saw this, she felt that in very truth a great
dazzling light had been born into the world like the sun in the sky
and visible to her eyes.
On occasions when his father had stolen something again and was in
prison, Nikolay would announce to his comrades: "Now we can hold
our meetings at our house. The police will think us thieves, and
they love thieves!"
Almost every evening after work one of Pavel's comrades came to his
house, read with him, and copied something from the books. So greatly
occupied were they that they hardly even took the time to wash.
They ate their supper and drank tea with the books in their hands;
and their talks became less and less intelligible to the mother.
"We must have a newspaper!" Pavel said frequently.
Life grew ever more hurried and feverish; there was a constant
rushing from house to house, a passing from one book to another,
like the flirting of bees from flower to flower.
"They are talking about us!" said Vyesovshchikov once. "We must
get away soon."
"What's a quail for but to be caught in the snare?" retorted the
Little Russian.
Vlasova liked the Little Russian more and more. When he called
her "mother," it was like a child's hand patting her on the cheek.
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