further than anybody else toward the great, glorious day, and that
he saw the joys of that future more vividly than the rest. When the
investigations of Isay's murder ceased, he said in disgust and smiling
sadly:

"It's not only the people they treat like trash, but even the very men
whom they set on the people like dogs. They have no concern for their
faithful Judases, they care only for their shekels--only for them."
And after a sullen silence, he added: "And I pity that man the more I
think of him. I didn't intend to kill him--didn't want to!"

"Enough, Andrey," said Pavel severely.

"You happened to knock against something rotten, and it fell to
pieces," added the mother in a low voice.

"You're right--but that's no consolation."

He often spoke in this way. In his mouth the words assumed a peculiar,
universal significance, bitter and corrosive.

At last, it was the first of May! The whistle shrilled as usual,
powerful and peremptory. The mother, who hadn't slept a minute during
the night, jumped out of bed, made a fire in the samovar, which had
been prepared the evening before, and was about, as always, to knock at
the door of her son's and Andrey's room, when, with a wave of her hand
she recollected the day, and went to seat herself at the window,
leaning her cheek on her hand.

Clusters of light clouds, white and rosy, sailed swiftly across the
pale blue sky, like huge birds frightened by the piercing shriek of the
escaping steam. The mother watched the clouds, absorbed in herself.
Her head was heavy, her eyes dry and inflamed from the sleepless night.
A strange calm possessed her breast, her heart was beating evenly, and
her mind dwelt on only common, everyday things.

"I prepared the samovar too early; it will boil away. Let them sleep
longer to-day; they've worn themselves out, both of them."

A cheerful ray of sun looked into the room. She held her hand out to
it, and with the other gently patted the bright young beam, smiling
kindly and thoughtfully. Then she rose, removed the pipe from the
samovar, trying not to make a noise, washed herself, and began to pray,
crossing herself piously, and noiselessly moving her lips. Her face
was radiant, and her right eyebrow kept rising gradually and suddenly
dropping.

The second whistle blew more softly with less assurance, a tremor in
its thick and mellow sound. It seemed to the mother that the whistle
lasted longer to-day than ever. The cle