master presented one prima donna with a golden wash basin.
Every one of her toilet articles was gold. That basin holds my
life-blood, my very life. That's for what my life went! A man killed
me with work in order to comfort his mistress with my blood. He bought
her a gold wash basin with my blood."

"Man is created in the image of God," said Yefim, smiling. "And that's
the use to which they put the image. Fine!"

"Well, then don't be silent!" exclaimed Rybin, striking his palm on the
table.

"Don't suffer it," added Yakob softly.

Ignaty laughed. The mother observed that all three spoke little, but
listened with the insatiable attention of hungry souls, and every time
that Rybin spoke they looked into his face with watchful eyes.
Savely's talk produced a strange, sharp smile on their faces. No
feeling of pity for the sick man was to be detected in their manner.

Bending toward Sofya the mother whispered:

"Is it possible that what he says is true?"

Sofya answered aloud:

"Yes, it's true. The newspapers tell about such gifts. It happened in
Moscow."

"And the man wasn't executed for it?" asked Rybin dully. "But he
should have been executed, he should have been led out before the
people and torn to pieces. His vile, dirty flesh should have been
thrown to the dogs. The people will perform great executions when once
they arise. They'll shed much blood to wash away their wrongs. This
blood is theirs; it has been drained from their veins; they are its
masters."

"It's cold," said the sick man. Yakob helped him to rise, and led him
to the fire.

The wood pile burned evenly and glaringly, and the faceless shadows
quivered around it. Savely sat down on a stump, and stretched his dry,
transparent hands toward the fire, coughing. Rybin nodded his head to
one side, and said to Sofya in an undertone:

"That's sharper than books. That ought to be known. When they tear a
workingman's hand in a machine or kill him, you can understand--the
workingman himself is at fault. But in a case like this, when they
suck a man's blood out of him and throw him away like a carcass--that
can't be explained in any way. I can comprehend every murder; but
torturing for mere sport I can't comprehend. And why do they torture
the people? To what purpose do they torture us all? For fun, for mere
amusement, so that they can live pleasantly on the earth; so that they
can buy everything with the blood of the people, a pri