around,
and kept thinking all the time: 'Where am I to go next?' I even began
to get angry with myself. Besides, I got dreadfully hungry. I walked
into the street and kept on trotting. I felt very down in the mouth.
And then I saw police officers looking at everybody closely. 'Well,'
thinks I to myself, 'with my face I'll arrive at God's judgment seat
pretty soon.' Suddenly Nilovna came running opposite me. I turned
about, and off I went after her. That's all."

"And I didn't even see you," said the mother guiltily.

"The comrades are probably uneasy about me. They must be wondering
where I am," said Nikolay, scratching his head.

"Aren't you sorry for the officials? I guess they're uneasy, too,"
teased Yegor. He moved heavily on the sofa, and said seriously and
solicitously: "However, jokes aside, we must hide you--by no means as
easy as pleasant. If I could get up--" His breath gave out. He
clapped his hand to his breast, and with a weak movement began to rub
it.

"You've gotten very sick, Yegor Ivanovich," said Nikolay gloomily,
drooping his head. The mother sighed and cast an anxious glance about
the little, crowded room.

"That's my own affair. Granny, you ask about Pavel. No reason to
feign indifference," said Yegor.

Vyesovshchikov smiled broadly.

"Pavel's all right; he's strong; he's like an elder among us; he
converses with the officials and gives commands; he's respected.
There's good reason for it."

Vlasova nodded her head, listening, and looked sidewise at the swollen,
bluish face of Yegor, congealed to immobility, devoid of expression.
It seemed strangely flat, only the eyes flashed with animation and
cheerfulness.

"I wish you'd give me something to eat. I'm frightfully hungry,"
Nikolay cried out unexpectedly, and smiled sheepishly.

"Granny, there's bread on the shelf--give it to him. Then go out in
the corridor, to the second door on the left, and knock. A woman will
open it, and you'll tell her to snatch up everything she has to eat and
come here."

"Why everything?" protested Nikolay.

"Don't get excited. It's not much--maybe nothing at all."

The mother went out and rapped at the door. She strained her ears for
an answering sound, while thinking of Yegor with dread and grief. He
was dying, she knew.

"Who is it?" somebody asked on the other side of the door.

"It's from Yegor Ivanovich," the mother whispered. "He asked you to
come to him."

"I'll come at