entering the kitchen he said in a
housekeeper-like fashion:

"We must tell Nikolay to bring us wood. We have very little wood left.
You see, mother, how well Pavel looks? Instead of punishing the
rebels, the government only fattens them."

The mother laughed. Her heart was still leaping with joy. She was
fairly intoxicated with happiness. But a certain, cautious, chary
feeling already called forth in her the wish to see her son calm as he
always was. She wanted this first joy in her life to remain fixed in
her heart forever as live and strong as at first. In order to guard
against the diminution of her happiness; she hastened to hide it, as a
fowler secrets some rare bird that has happened to fall into his hands.

"Let's have dinner! Pasha, haven't you had anything to eat yet?" she
asked with anxious haste.

"No. I learned yesterday from the warden that I was to be released,
and I couldn't eat or drink anything to-day."

"The first person I met here was Sizov," Pavel communicated to Andrey.
"He caught sight of me and crossed the street to greet me. I told him
that he ought to be more careful now, as I was a dangerous man under
the surveillance of the police. But he said: 'Never mind!' and you
ought to have heard him inquire about his nephew! 'Did Fedor conduct
himself properly in prison?' I wanted to know what is meant by proper
behavior in prison, and he declared: 'Well, did he blab anything he
shouldn't have against his comrades?' And when I told him that Fedya
was an honest and wise young man, he stroked his beard and declared
proudly: 'We, the Sizovs, have no trash in our family.'"

"He's a brainy old man!" said the Little Russian, nodding his head. "We
often have talks with him. He's a fine peasant. Will they let Fedya
out soon?"

"Yes, one of these days, I suppose. They'll let out all, I think. They
have no evidence except Isay's, and what can he say?"

The mother walked up and down the room, and looked at her son. Andrey
stood at the window with his hands clasped behind his back, listening
to Pavel's narrative. Pavel also paced up and down the room. His
beard had grown, and small ringlets of thin, dark hair curled in a
dense growth around his cheeks, softening the swarthy color of his
face. His dark eyes had their stern expression.

"Sit down!" said the mother, serving a hot dish.

At dinner Andrey told Pavel about Rybin. When he had concluded Pavel
exclaimed regretfully:

"If I