"
"That's so; he's speaking the gospel!" shouted the blue-eyed peasant.
"Ah, brother! You will perish--and soon, too!"
"Who betrayed you?"
"The priest!" said one of the police.
Two peasants gave vent to hard oaths.
"Look out, boys!" a somewhat subdued cry was heard in warning.
The commissioner of police walked into the crowd--a tall, compact
man, with a round, red face. His cap was cocked to one side; his
mustache with one end turned up the other drooping made his face
seem crooked, and it was disfigured by a dull, dead grin. His left
hand held a saber, his right waved broadly in the air. His heavy,
firm tramp was audible. The crowd gave way before him. Something
sullen and crushed appeared in their faces, and the noise died away
as if it had sunk into the ground.
"What's the trouble?" asked the police commissioner, stopping in
front of Rybin and measuring him with his eyes. "Why are his hands
not bound? Officers, why? Bind them!" His voice was high and
resonant, but colorless.
"They were tied, but the people unbound them," answered one of
the policemen.
"The people! What people?" The police commissioner looked at the
crowd standing in a half-circle before him.
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