s exiled to Siberia; but he escaped,
caught a severe cold on the way, and died abroad two years ago."

"Is she younger than you?"

"Six years older. I owe a great deal to her. Wait, and you'll hear
how she plays. That's her piano. There are a whole lot of her things
here, my books----"

"Where does she live?"

"Everywhere," he answered with a smile. "Wherever a brave soul is
needed, there's where you'll find her."

"Also in this movement?"

"Yes, of course."

He soon left to go to work, and the mother fell to thinking of "that
movement" for which the people worked, day in, day out, calmly and
resolutely. When confronting them she seemed to stand before a
mountain looming in the dark.

About noon a tall, well-built lady came. When the mother opened the
door for her she threw a little yellow valise on the floor, and quickly
seizing Vlasova's hand, asked:

"Are you the mother of Pavel Mikhaylovich?"

"Yes, I am," the mother replied, embarrassed by the lady's rich
appearance.

"That's the way I imagined you," said the lady, removing her hat in
front of the mirror. "We have been friends of Pavel Mikhaylovich a
long time. He spoke about you often."

Her voice was somewhat dull, and she spoke slowly; but her movements
were quick and vigorous. Her large, limpid gray eyes smiled
youthfully; on her temples, however, thin radiate wrinkles were already
limned, and silver hairs glistened over her ears.

"I'm hungry; can I have a cup of coffee?"

"I'll make it for you at once." The mother took down the coffee
apparatus from the shelf and quietly asked:

"DID Pasha speak about me?"

"Yes, indeed, a great deal." The lady took out a little leather
cigarette case, lighted a cigarette, and inquired: "You're extremely
uneasy about him, aren't you?"

The mother smiled, watching the blue, quivering flame of the spirit
lamp. Her embarrassment at the presence of the lady vanished in the
depths of her joy.

"So he talks about me, my dear son!" she thought.

"You asked me whether I'm uneasy? Of course, it's not easy for me. But
it would have been worse some time ago; now I know that he's not alone,
and that even I am not alone." Looking into the lady's face, she
asked: "What is your name?"

"Sofya," the lady answered, and began to speak in a businesslike way.
"The most important thing is that they should not stay in prison long,
but that the trial should come off very soon. The moment they are
exiled