"A-ha-ha-ha!" some one exclaimed derisively. "They've struck up a
funeral song, the dirty dogs!"
"Beat him!" came the angry response.
The mother clasped her hands to her breast, looked about and saw
that the crowd, before so dense, was now standing irresolute,
watching the comrades walk away from them with the banner, followed
by about a dozen people, one of whom, however, at every forward
move, jumped aside as if the path in the middle of the street were
red hot and burned his soles.
"The tyranny will fall--" sounded the prophetic song from the
lips of Fedya.
"And the people will rise!" the chorus of powerful voices seconded
confidently and menacingly.
But the harmonious flow of the song was broken by the quiet words:
"He is giving orders."
"Charge bayonets!" came the piercing order from the front.
The bayonets curved in the air, and glittered sharply; then fell
and stretched out to confront the banner.
"Ma-arch!"
"They're coming!" said the lame man, and thrusting his hands into
his pockets made a long step to one side.
The mother, without blinking, looked on. The gray line of soldiers
tossed to and fro, and spread out over the entire width of the
street.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294