oped, faces were turned aside.

"Well," he addressed the policeman, "what's the matter with you? Bind
him!" He uttered a cynical oath and again looked at Rybin, and said
nonchalantly: "Your hands behind your back, you!"

"I don't want my hands to be bound," said Rybin. "I'm not going to run
away, and I'm not fighting. Why should my hands be bound?"

"What?" exclaimed the police commissioner, striding up to him.

"It's enough that you torture the people, you beasts!" continued Rybin
in an elevated voice. "The red day will soon come for you, too.
You'll be paid back for everything."

The police commissioner stood before him, his mustached upper lip
twitching. Then he drew back a step, and with a whistling voice sang
out in surprise:

"Um! you damned scoundrel! Wha-at? What do you mean by your words?
People, you say? A-a----"

Suddenly he dealt Rybin a quick, sharp blow in the face.

"You won't kill the truth with your fist!" shouted Rybin, drawing on
him. "And you have no right to beat me, you dog!"

"I won't dare, I suppose?" the police commissioner drawled.

Again he waved his hand, aiming at Rybin's head; Rybin ducked; the blow
missed, and the police commissioner almost toppled over. Some one in
the crowd gave a jeering snort, and the angry shout of Mikhail was
heard:

"Don't you dare to beat me, I say, you infernal devil! I'm no weaker
than you! Look out!"

The police commissioner looked around. The people shut down on him in
a narrower circle, advancing sullenly.

"Nikita!" the police commissioner called out, looking around. "Nikita,
hey!" A squat peasant in a short fur overcoat emerged from the crowd.
He looked on the ground, with his large disheveled head drooping.

"Nikita," the police commissioner said deliberately, twirling his
mustache, "give him a box on the ear--a good one!"

The peasant stepped forward, stopped in front of Rybin and raised his
hand. Staring him straight in the face, Rybin stammered out heavily:

"Now look, people, how the beasts choke you with your own hands! Look!
Look! Think! Why does he want to beat me--why? I ask."

The peasant raised his hand and lazily struck Mikhail's face.

"Ah, Nikita! don't forget God!" subdued shouts came from the crowd.

"Strike, I say!" shouted the police commissioner, pushing the peasant
on the back of his neck.

The peasant stepped aside, and inclining his head, said sullenly:

"I won't do it again."

"What?" The f