"
The sergeant suddenly appeared on the steps of the town hall,
roaring in a drunken voice:
"What is this crowd? Who's the fellow speaking?"
Suddenly precipitating himself down the steps, he seized Rybin by
the hair, and pulled his head backward and forward. "Is it you
speaking, you damned scoundrel? Is it you?"
The crowd, giving way, still maintained silence. The mother, in
impotent grief, bowed her head; one of the peasants sighed. Rybin
spoke again:
"There! Look, good people!"
"Silence!" and the sergeant struck his face.
Rybin reeled.
"They bind a man's hands and then torment him, and do with him
whatever they please."
"Policemen, take him! Disperse, people!" The sergeant, jumping and
swinging in front of Rybin, struck him in his face, breast, and stomach.
"Don't beat him!" some one shouted dully.
"Why do you beat him?" another voice upheld the first.
"Lazy, good-for-nothing beast!"
"Come!" said the blue-eyed peasant, motioning with his head; and
without hastening, the two walked toward the town hall, accompanied
by a kind look from the mother. She sighed with relief. The
sergeant again ran heavily up the steps, and shaking his fists in
menace, bawled from his height vehemently:
"Bring him here, officers, I say! I say----"
"Don't!" a strong voice resounded in the crowd, and the mother knew
it came from the blue-eyed peasant.
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