God grant
you his favor! Perhaps you'll find a way out. God grant it!" And
he walked away.
"Yes, you may as well die straight off!" murmured Rybin. "You are
no men, now. You are only putty--good to fill cracks with, that's
all! Did you see, Pavel, who it was that shouted to make you a
delegate? It was those who call you socialist--agitator--yes!--
thinking you'd be discharged, and it would serve you right!"
"They are right, according to their lights!" said Pavel.
"So are wolves when they tear one another to pieces!" Rybin's face
was sullen, his voice unusually tremulous.
The whole day Pavel felt ill at ease, as if he had lost something,
he did not know what, and anticipated a further loss.
At night when the mother was asleep and he was reading in bed,
gendarmes appeared and began to search everywhere--in the yard, in
the attic. They were sullen; the yellow-faced officer conducted
himself as on the first occasion, insultingly, derisively, delighting
in abuse, endeavoring to cut down to the very heart. The mother,
in a corner, maintained silence, never removing her eyes from her
son's face. He made every effort not to betray his emotion; but
whenever the officer laughed, his fingers twitched strangely, and
the old woman felt how hard it was for him not to reply, and to bear
the jesting.
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