Pavel's austerity worried her. She
saw that his advice was taken even by his older comrades, such as
the Little Russian; but it seemed to her that all were afraid of
him, and no one loved him because he was so stern.
Once when she had lain down to sleep, and her son and the Little
Russian were still reading, she overheard their low conversation
through the thin partition.
"You know I like Natasha," suddenly ejaculated the Little Russian
in an undertone.
"I know," answered Pavel after a pause.
"Yes!"
The mother heard the Little Russian rise and begin to walk. The
tread of his bare feet sounded on the floor, and a low, mournful
whistle was heard. Then he spoke again:
"And does she notice it?"
Pavel was silent.
"What do you think?" the Little Russian asked, lowering his voice.
"She does," replied Pavel. "That's why she has refused to attend
our meetings."
The Little Russian dragged his feet heavily over the floor, and
again his low whistle quivered in the room. Then he asked:
"And if I tell her?"
"What?" The brief question shot from Pavel like the discharge of a gun.
"That I am--" began the Little Russian in a subdued voice.
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