surrounded on all sides, shouted, waving his hand:

"Long live liberty! We will live and die for it!"

The mother shut her eyes in momentary fear. The boisterous tempest of
confused sounds deafened her. The earth rocked under her feet; terror
impeded her breathing. The startling whistles of the policemen pierced
the air. The rude, commanding voice of the captain was heard; the
women cried hysterically. The wooden fences cracked, and the heavy
tread of many feet sounded dully on the dry ground. A sonorous voice,
subduing all the other voices, blared like a war trumpet:

"Comrades! Calm yourselves! Have more respect for yourselves! Let me
go! Comrades, I insist, let me go!"

The mother looked up, and uttered a low exclamation. A blind impulse
carried her forward with outstretched hands. Not far from her, on a
worn path between the graves, the policemen were surrounding the
long-haired man and repelling the crowd that fell upon them from all
sides. The unsheathed bayonets flashed white and cold in the air,
flying over the heads of the people, and falling quickly again with a
spiteful hiss. Broken bits of the fence were brandished; the baleful
shouts of the struggling people rose wildly.

The young man lifted his pale face, and his firm, calm voice sounded
above the storm of irritated outcries:

"Comrades! Why do you spend your strength? Our task is to arm the
heads."

He conquered. Throwing away their sticks, the people dropped out of
the throng one after the other; and the mother pushed forward. She saw
how Nikolay, with his hat fallen back on his neck, thrust aside the
people, intoxicated with the commotion, and heard his reproachful voice:

"Have you lost your senses? Calm yourselves!"

It seemed to her that one of his hands was red.

"Nikolay Ivanovich, go away!" she shouted, rushing toward him.

"Where are you going? They'll strike you there!"

She stopped. Seizing her by the shoulder, Sofya stood at her side,
hatless, her jacket open, her other hand grasping a young, light-haired
man, almost a boy. He held his hands to his bruised face, and he
muttered with tremulous lips: "Let me go! It's nothing."

"Take care of him! Take him home to us! Here's a handkerchief.
Bandage his face!" Sofya gave the rapid orders, and putting his hand
into the mother's ran away, saying:

"Get out of this place quickly, else they'll arrest you!"

The people scattered all over the cemetery. Afte