All this failed
to impress the mother.
"Aha!" she heard the squeaking voice of Marya. "So the people have
been stirred up! At last the whole factory has arisen! All have arisen!"
"Yes, yes!" said the mother in a low voice, shaking her head. Her
eyes were fixed on something that had already fallen into the past,
had departed from her along with Andrey and Pavel. She was unable
to weep. Her heart was dried up, her lips, too, were dry, and her
mouth was parched. Her hands shook, and a cold, fine shiver ran
down her back, setting her skin aquiver.
In the evening the gendarmes came. She met them without surprise
and without fear. They entered noisily, with a peculiarly jaunty
air, and with a look of gayety and satisfaction in their faces. The
yellow-faced officer said, displaying his teeth:
"Well, how are you? The third time I have the honor, eh?"
She was silent, passing her dry tongue along her lips. The officer
talked a great deal, delivering a homily to her. The mother realized
what pleasure he derived from his words. But they did not reach her;
they did not disturb her; they were like the insistent chirp of a
cricket. It was only when he said: "It's your own fault, little
mother, that you weren't able to inspire your son with reverence
for God and the Czar," that she answered dully, standing at the door
and looking at him: "Yes, our children are our judges.
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