elf included, only complained; no one
explained why life was so hard and burdensome.

And now her son sat before her; and what he said about her--his eyes,
his face, his words--it all clutched at her heart, filling her with a
sense of pride for her son, who truly understood the life of his
mother, and spoke the truth about her and her sufferings, and pitied
her.

Mothers are not pitied. She knew it. She did not understand Pavel
when speaking about matters not pertaining to herself, but all he said
about her own woman's existence was bitterly familiar and true. Hence
it seemed to her that every word of his was perfectly true, and her
bosom throbbed with a gentle sensation which warmed it more and more
with an unknown, kindly caress.

"What do you want to do, then?" she asked, interrupting his speech.

"Study and then teach others. We workingmen must study. We must
learn, we must understand why life is so hard for us."

It was sweet to her to see that his blue eyes, always so serious and
stern, now glowed with warmth, softly illuminating something new within
him. A soft, contented smile played around her lips, although the
tears still trembled in the wrinkles of her face. She wavered between
two feelings: pride in her son who desired the good of all people, had
pity for all, and understood the sorrow and affliction of life; and the
involuntary regret for his youth, because he did not speak like
everybody else, because he resolved to enter alone into a fight against
the life to which all, including herself, were accustomed.

She wanted to say to him: "My dear, what can you do? People will
crush you. You will perish."

But it was pleasant to her to listen to his speeches, and she feared to
disturb her delight in her son, who suddenly revealed himself so new
and wise, even if somewhat strange.

Pavel saw the smile around his mother's lips, the attention in her
face, the love in her eyes; and it seemed to him that he compelled her
to understand his truth; and youthful pride in the power of his word
heightened his faith in himself. Seized with enthusiasm, he continued
to talk, now smiling, now frowning. Occasionally hatred sounded in his
words; and when his mother heard its bitter, harsh accents she shook
her head, frightened, and asked in a low voice:

"Is it so, Pasha?"

"It is so!" he answered firmly. And he told her about people who
wanted the good of men, and who sowed truth among them; and becaus