waited for a response.

"We all must learn and teach others. That's our business!" said
Andrey, bending his head.

Vyesovshchikov asked:

"And when are we going to fight?"

"There'll be more than one butchery of us up to that time, that I
know!" answered the Little Russian with a smile. "But when we shall be
called on to fight, that I don't know! First, you see, we must equip
the head, and then the hand. That's what I think."

"The heart!" said Nikolay laconically.

"And the heart, too."

Nikolay became silent, and began to eat again. From the corner of her
eye the mother stealthily regarded his broad, pockmarked face,
endeavoring to find something in it to reconcile her to the unwieldy,
square figure of Vyesovshchikov. Her eyebrows fluttered whenever she
encountered the shooting glance of his little eyes. Andrey held his
head in his hands; he became restless--he suddenly laughed, and then
abruptly stopped, and began to whistle.

It seemed to the mother that she understood his disquietude. Nikolay
sat at the table without saying anything; and when the Little Russian
addressed a question to him, he answered briefly, with evident
reluctance.

The little room became too narrow and stifling for its two occupants,
and they glanced, now the one, now the other, at their guest.

At length Nikolay rose and said: "I'd like to go to bed. I sat and
sat in prison--suddenly they let me go; I'm off!--I'm tired!"

He went into the kitchen and stirred about for a while. Then a sudden
stillness settled down. The mother listened for a sound, and whispered
to Andrey: "He has something terrible in his mind!"

"Yes, he's hard to understand!" the Little Russian assented, shaking
his head. "But you go to bed, mother, I am going to stay and read a
while."

She went to the corner where the bed was hidden from view by chintz
curtains. Andrey, sitting at the table, for a long while listened to
the warm murmur of her prayers and sighs. Quickly turning the pages of
the book Andrey nervously rubbed his lips, twitched his mustache with
his long fingers, and scraped his feet on the floor. Ticktock, ticktock
went the pendulum of the clock; and the wind moaned as it swept past
the window.

Then the mother's low voice was heard:

"Oh, God! How many people there are in the world, and each one wails
in his own way. Where, then, are those who feel rejoiced?"

"Soon there will be such, too, soon!" announced the Little Russ