She forced her way into the crowd among people familiar to her, and,
as it were, leaned on them.
She pressed closely against a tall, lame man with a clean-shaven
face. In order to look at her, he had to turn his head stiffly.
"What do you want? Who are you?" he asked her.
"The mother of Pavel Vlasov," she answered, her knees trembling
beneath her, her lower lip involuntarily dropping.
"Ha-ha!" said the lame man. "Very well!"
"Comrades!" Pavel cried. "Onward all your lives. There is no
other way for us! Sing!"
The atmosphere grew tense. The flag rose and rocked and waved over
the heads of the people, gliding toward the gray wall of soldiers.
The mother trembled. She closed her eyes; and cried: "Oh--oh!"
None but Pavel, Andrey, Samoylov, and Mazin advanced beyond the crowd.
The limpid voice of Fedya Mazin slowly quivered in the air.
"'In mortal strife--'" he began the song.
"'You victims fell--'" answered thick, subdued voices. The words
dropped in two heavy sighs. People stepped forward, each footfall
audible. A new song, determined and resolute, burst out:
"You yielded up your lives for them."
Fedya's voice wreathed and curled like a bright ribbon.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293