They were stopped by Mironov, a modest, elderly
man, respected by everybody for his clean, sober life.
"Not working either, Daniil Ivanovich?" Pavel asked.
"My wife is going to be confined. Well, and such an exciting day,
too," Mironov responded, staring fixedly at the comrades. He said
to them in an undertone:
"Boys, I hear you're going to make an awful row--smash the
superintendent's windows."
"Why, are we drunk?" exclaimed Pavel.
"We are simply going to march along the streets with flags, and sing
songs," said the Little Russian. "You'll have a chance to hear our
songs. They're our confession of faith."
"I know your confession of faith," said Mironov thoughtfully. "I
read your papers. You, Nilovna," he exclaimed, smiling at the
mother with knowing eyes, "are you going to revolt, too?"
"Well, even if it's only before death, I want to walk shoulder to
shoulder with the truth."
"I declare!" said Mironov. "I guess they were telling the truth
when they said you carried forbidden books to the factory."
"Who said so?" asked Pavel.
"Oh, people. Well, good-by! Behave yourselves!"
The mother laughed softly; she was pleased to hear that such things
were said of her.
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