t official called me up,
and, says he, 'You blackguard, what did you say to the priest?' 'Why am
I a blackguard?' I say. 'I earn my bread in the sweat of my brow, and
I don't do anything bad to people.' That's what I said. He bawled out
at me, and hit me in the face. For three days and three nights I sat
in the lockup." Rybin grew infuriated. "That's the way you speak to
the people, is it?" he cried. "Don't expect pardon, you devils. My
wrong will be avenged, if not by me, then by another, if not on you,
then on your children. Remember! The greed in your breasts has
harrowed the people with iron claws. You have sowed malice; don't
expect mercy!"

The wrath in Rybin seethed and bubbled; his voice shook with sounds
that frightened the mother.

"And what had I said to the priest?" he continued in a lighter tone.
"After the village assembly he sits with the peasants in the street,
and tells them something. 'The people are a flock,' says he, 'and they
always need a shepherd.' And I joke. 'If,' I say, 'they make the fox
the chief in the forest, there'll be lots of feathers but no birds.'
He looks at me sidewise and speaks about how the people ought to be
patient and pray more to God to give them the power to be patient. And
I say that the people pray, but evidently God has no time, because he
doesn't listen to them. The priest begins to cavil with me as to what
prayers I pray. I tell him I use one prayer, like all the people, 'O
Lord, teach the masters to carry bricks, eat stones, and spit wood.'
He wouldn't even let me finish my sentence. --Are you a lady?" Rybin
asked Sofya, suddenly breaking off his story.

"Why do you think I'm a lady?" she asked quickly, startled by the
unexpectedness of his question.

"Why?" laughed Rybin. "That's the star under which you were born.
That's why. You think a chintz kerchief can conceal the blot of the
nobleman from the eyes of the people? We'll recognize a priest even if
he's wrapped in sackcloth. Here, for instance, you put your elbows on
a wet table, and you started and frowned. Besides, your back is too
straight for a working woman."

Fearing he would insult Sofya with his heavy voice and his raillery,
the mother said quickly and sternly:

"She's my friend, Mikhail Ivanovich. She's a good woman. Working in
this movement has turned her hair gray. You're not very----"

Rybin fetched a deep breath.

"Why, was what I said insulting?"

Sofya looked at hi