They called to him,
waving their hands excitedly and trying to push past one another.
The mother caught the flash of pale, agitated countenances, some
of them with quivering lips and tears.
"Down with violence!" a young voice shouted nervously. But the
lonely outcry was lost in the general clamor.
The mother also felt bitterness in her heart. She turned in
indignation to her neighbor, a poorly dressed young man.
"They don't permit a man's comrades even to bury him as they want
to. What do they mean by it?"
The hubbub increased and hostility waxed strong. The coffin rocked
over the heads of the people. The silken rustling of the ribbons
fluttering in the wind about the heads and faces of the carriers
could be heard amid the noise of the strife.
The mother was seized with a shuddering dread of the possible
collision, and she quickly spoke in an undertone to her neighbors
on the right and on the left:
"Why not let them have their way if they're like that? The comrades
ought to yield and remove the ribbons. What else can they do?"
A loud, sharp voice subdued all the other noises:
"We demand not to be disturbed in accompanying on his last journey
one whom you tortured to death!"
Somebody--apparently a girl--sang out in a high, piping voice:
"In mortal strife your victims fell.
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