you come?" asked a voice in the background. "Some one pays
you; who is it?"

"Ah, Tula," said Paul, without looking up. "You are there, are you? The
great Tula. There is a hardworking, sober man, my little fathers, who
never beats his wife, and never drinks, and never borrows money. A
useful neighbor! What is the matter with you, Tula? You have been too
sparing with the vodka, no doubt. I must order you a glass every hour."

There was a little laugh. But Paul, who knew these people, was quite
alive to the difference of feeling toward himself. They still accepted
his care, his help, his medicine; but they were beginning to doubt him.

"There is your own prince," he went on fearlessly to the man whose hand
he was binding up. "He will help you when there is real distress."

An ominous silence greeted this observation.

Paul raised his head and looked round. In the dim light of the two smoky
lamps he saw a ring of wild faces. Men with shaggy beards and hair all
entangled and unkempt, with fierce eyes and lowering glances; women with
faces that unsexed them. There were despair and desperation and utter
recklessness in the air, in the attitude, in the hearts of these people.
And Paul had worked among them for years. The sight would have been
heart-breaking had Paul Howard Alexis been the sort of man to admit the
possibility of a broken heart. All that he had done had been frustrated
by the wall of heartless bureaucracy against which he had pitched his
single strength. There was no visible progress. These were not the faces
of men and women moving up the social scale by the aid of education and
the deeper self-respect that follows it. Some of them were young,
although they hardly looked it. They were young in years, but old in
life and misery. Some of them he knew to be educated. He had paid for
the education himself. He had risked his own personal freedom to procure
it for them, and misery had killed the seed.

He looked on this stony ground, and his stout heart was torn with pity.
It is easy to be patient in social economy when that vague jumble of
impossible ideas is calmly discussed across the dinner-table. But the
result seems hopelessly distant when the mass of the poor and wretched
stand before one in the flesh.

Paul knew that this little room was only a specimen of the whole of
Russia. Each of these poor peasants represented a million--equally
hopeless, equally powerless to contend with an impossible taxation.