This hubbub delighted her and she strode on more
boldly, thinking, "So, it's possible--HE could have done it!"
But now pain for her son no longer entered her heart without pride
in him also. And only fear for him weighed and oppressed her to
stupefaction as before.
From the corner of the fence opposite her a constable with a black,
curly beard, and two policemen emerged.
"Stop!" shouted the constable, breathing heavily. "Did you see--
a man--with a beard--didn't he run by here?"
She pointed to the garden and answered calmly:
"He went that way!"
"Yegorov, run! Whistle! Is it long ago?"
"Yes--I should say--about a minute!"
But the whistle drowned her voice. The constable, without waiting
for an answer, precipitated himself in a gallop along the hillocky
ground, waving his hands in the direction of the garden. After
him, with bent head, and whistling, the policemen darted off.
The mother nodded her head after them, and, satisfied with herself,
went home. When she walked out of the field into the street a cab
crossed her way. Raising her head she saw in the vehicle a young
man with light mustache and a pale, worn face. He, too, regarded
her.
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