The broad figure of Nikolay stood
before her like a shadow, his narrow eyes had a cold, cruel look,
and he wrung his right hand as if it had been hurt.
When Pavel and Andrey came to dinner, her first question was:
"Well? Did they arrest anybody for Isay's murder?"
"We haven't heard anything about it," answered the Little Russian.
She saw that they were both downhearted and sullen. "Nothing is
said about Nikolay?" the mother questioned again in a low voice.
Pavel fixed his stern eyes on the mother, and said distinctly:
"No, there is no talk of him. He is not even thought of in connection
with this affair. He is away. He went off on the river yesterday,
and hasn't returned yet. I inquired for him."
"Thank God!" said the mother with a sigh of relief. "Thank God!"
The Little Russian looked at her, and drooped his head.
"He lies there," the mother recounted pensively. "and looks as
though he were surprised; that's the way his face looks. And no one
pities him; no one bestows a good word on him. He is such a tiny
bit of a fellow, such a wretched-looking thing, like a bit of broken
china. It seems as if he had slipped on something and fallen, and
there he lies!"
At dinner Pavel suddenly dropped his spoon and exclaimed:
"That's what I don't understand!"
"What?" asked the Little Russian, who had been sitting at the table
dismal and silent.
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