t be uneasy--don't be
angry," he said.

These words and the stubborn folds between his brows answered her
question. "Well, what do you mean?" she muttered, drooping her head.
"What of it?" And she quickly walked away without looking at him, in
order not to betray her feelings by the tears in her eyes and the
quiver of her lips. On the road she thought that the bones of the hand
which had pressed her son's hand ached and grew heavy, as if she had
been struck on the shoulder.

At home, after thrusting the note into Nikolay's hand, she stood before
him, and waited while he smoothed out the tight little roll. She felt a
tremor of hope again; but Nikolay said:

"Of course, this is what he writes: 'We will not go away, comrade; we
cannot, not one of us. We should lose respect for ourselves. Take into
consideration the peasant recently arrested. He has merited your
solicitude; he deserves that you expend much time and energy on him.
It's very hard for him here--daily collisions with the authorities.
He's already had the twenty-four hours of the dark cell. They torture
him to death. We all intercede for him. Soothe and be kind to my
mother; tell her; she'll understand all. Pavel.'"

The mother straightened herself easily, and proudly tossed her head.

"Well, what is there to tell me?" she said firmly. "I understand--they
want to go straight at the authorities again--'there! condemn the
truth!'"

Nikolay quickly turned aside, took out his handkerchief, blew his nose
aloud, and mumbled: "I've caught a cold, you see!" Covering his eyes
with his hands, under the pretext of adjusting his glasses, he paced up
and down the room, and said: "We shouldn't have been successful
anyway."

"Never mind; let the trial come off!" said the mother frowning.

"Here, I've received a letter from a comrade in St. Petersburg----"

"He can escape from Siberia, too, can't he?"

"Of course! The comrade writes: 'The trial is appointed for the near
future; the sentence is certain--exile for everybody!' You see, these
petty cheats convert their court into the most trivial comedy. You
understand? Sentence is pronounced in St. Petersburg before the
trial."

"Stop!" the mother said resolutely. "You needn't comfort me or explain
to me. Pasha won't do what isn't right--he won't torture himself for
nothing." She paused to catch breath. "Nor will he torture others,
and he loves me, yes. You see, he thinks of me. 'Explain to h