ur judgment."

With one hand pressing Andrey's, Pavel laid the other on his shoulder,
as if wishing to stop the tremor in his tall body. The Little Russian
bent his head down toward him, and said in a broken, mournful voice:

"I didn't want to do it, you know, Pavel. It happened when you walked
ahead, and I remained behind with Ivan Gusev. Isay came from around a
corner and stopped to look at us, and smiled at us. Ivan walked off
home, and I went on toward the factory--Isay at my side!" Andrey
stopped, heaved a deep sigh, and continued: "No one ever insulted me in
such an ugly way as that dog!"

The mother pulled the Little Russian by the hand toward the table, gave
him a shove, and finally succeeded in seating him on a chair. She sat
down at his side close to him, shoulder to shoulder. Pavel stood in
front of them, holding Andrey's hand in his and pressing it.

"I understand how hard it is for you," he said.

"He told me that they know us all, that we are all on the gendarme's
record, and that we are going to be dragged in before the first of May.
I didn't answer, I laughed, but my blood boiled. He began to tell me
that I was a clever fellow, and that I oughtn't to go on the way I was
going, but that I should rather----"

The Little Russian stopped, wiped his face with his right hand, shook
his head, and a dry gleam flashed in his eyes.

"I understand!" said Pavel.

"Yes," he said, "I should rather enter the service of the law." The
Little Russian waved his hand, and swung his clenched fist. "The
law!--curse his soul!" he hissed between his teeth. "It would have
been better if he had struck me in the face. It would have been easier
for me, and better for him, perhaps, too! But when he spit his dirty
thought into my heart that way, I could not bear it."

Andrey pulled his hand convulsively from Pavel's, and said more
hoarsely with disgust in his face:

"I dealt him a back-hand blow like that, downward and aslant, and
walked away. I didn't even stop to look at him; I heard him fall. He
dropped and was silent. I didn't dream of anything serious. I walked
on peacefully, just as if I had done no more than kick a frog with my
foot. And then--what's all this? I started to work, and I heard them
shouting: 'Isay is killed!' I didn't even believe it, but my hand
grew numb--and I felt awkward in working with it. It didn't hurt me,
but it seemed to have grown shorter."

He looked at his hand obliquely