"I'm not the one to decide, Nikolay."
"But, mother, you talk with them. Tell them everything is ready.
Ah, if I could only see them! I'd force them!" He threw out his
hands with a broad gesture and pressed them together as if embracing
something firmly, and his voice rang with hot feeling that astounded
the mother by its power.
"Hm! what a fellow you are!" she thought; but said aloud: "It's for
Pasha and the comrades to decide."
Nikolay thoughtfully inclined his head.
"Who's this Pasha?" asked the host, seating himself.
"My son."
"What's the family?"
"Vlasov."
He nodded his head, got his tobacco pouch, whipped out his pipe and
filled it with tobacco. He spoke brokenly:
"I've heard of him. My nephew knows him. He, too, is in prison--
my nephew Yevchenko. Have you heard of him? And my family is Godun.
They'll soon shut all the young people in prison, and then there'll
be plenty and comfort for us old folks. The gendarme assures me that
my nephew will even be sent to Siberia. They'll exile him--the dogs!"
Lighting his pipe, he turned to Nikolay, spitting frequently on the floor:
"So she doesn't want to? Well, that's her affair! A person is free
to feel as he wants to.
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