And everything
seems purposeless. There are the peasants, who work and tremble
over a piece of bread for their homes, and they have nothing. It
hurts them, enrages them; they drink, fight, and work again--work,
work, work. But what comes of it? Nothing."
She spoke with scorn in her eyes and in her voice, which was low and
even, but at times broke off like a taut thread overstrained. The
peasants were silent,, the wind glided by the window panes, buzzed
through the straw of the roofs, and at times whined softly down the
chimney. A dog barked, and occasional drops of rain pattered on the
window. Suddenly the light flared in the lamp, dimmed, but in a
second sprang up again even and bright.
"I listened to your talk, and I see what people live for now. It's
so strange--I hear you, and I think, 'Why, I know all this.' And
yet, until you said it, I hadn't heard such things, and I had no
such thoughts. Yes."
"I think we ought to take something to eat, and put out the lamp,"
said Stepan, somberly and slowly. "People will notice that at the
Chumakovs' the light burned late. It's nothing for us, but, it
might turn out bad for the guest."
Tatyana arose and walked to the oven.
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