ease her, and when she came the mother felt troubled and ill at ease.

Once she said to the Little Russian, with an expression of
dissatisfaction about the mouth:

"What a stern person this Sashenka is! Flings her commands
around!--You must do this and you must do that!"

The Little Russian laughed aloud.

"Well said, mother! You struck the nail right on the head! Hey,
Pavel?"

And with a wink to the mother, he said with a jovial gleam in his eyes:

"You can't drain the blue blood out of a person even with a pump!"

Pavel remarked dryly:

"She is a good woman!" His face glowered.

"And that's true, too!" the Little Russian corroborated. "Only she
does not understand that she ought to----"

They started up an argument about something the mother did not
understand. The mother noticed, also, that Sashenka was most stern
with Pavel, and that sometimes she even scolded him. Pavel smiled, was
silent, and looked in the girl's face with that soft look he had
formerly given Natasha. This likewise displeased the mother.

The gatherings increased in number, and began to be held twice a week;
and when the mother observed with what avidity the young people
listened to the speeches of her son and the Little Russian, to the
interesting stories of Sashenka, Natasha, Alexey Ivanovich, and the
other people from the city, she forgot her fears and shook her head
sadly as she recalled the days of her youth.

Sometimes they sang songs, the simple, familiar melodies, aloud and
merrily. But often they sang new songs, the words and music in perfect
accord, sad and quaint in tune. These they sang in an undertone,
pensively and seriously as church hymns are chanted. Their faces grew
pale, yet hot, and a mighty force made itself felt in their ringing
words.

"It is time for us to sing these songs in the street," said
Vyesovshchikov somberly.

And sometimes the mother was struck by the spirit of lively, boisterous
hilarity that took sudden possession of them. It was incomprehensible
to her. It usually happened on the evenings when they read in the
papers about the working people in other countries. Then their eyes
sparkled with bold, animated joy; they became strangely, childishly
happy; the room rang with merry peals of laughter, and they struck one
another on the shoulder affectionately.

"Capital fellows, our comrades the French!" cried some one, as if
intoxicated with his own mirth.

"Long live our comrades, the