ith red patches, and his little gray
eyes were steadfastly fixed upon the officer. The Little Russian
curled his mustache, and when the mother entered the room, he smiled
and gave her an affectionate nod of the head.

Striving to suppress her fear, she walked, not sideways as always, but
erect, her chest thrown out, which gave her figure a droll, stilted air
of importance. Her shoes made a knocking sound on the floor, and her
brows trembled.

The officer quickly seized the books with the long fingers of his white
hand, turned over the pages, shook them, and with a dexterous movement
of the wrist flung them aside. Sometimes a book fell to the floor with
a light thud. All were silent. The heavy breathing of the perspiring
gendarmes was audible; the spurs clanked, and sometimes the low
question was heard: "Did you look here?"

The mother stood by Pavel's side against the wall. She folded her arms
over her bosom, like her son, and both regarded the officer. The mother
felt her knees trembling, and her eyes became covered with a dry mist.

Suddenly the piercing voice of Nikolay cut into the silence:

"Why is it necessary to throw the books on the floor?"

The mother trembled. Tveryakov rocked his head as if he had been
struck on the back. Rybin uttered a peculiar cluck, and regarded
Nikolay attentively.

The officer threw up his head, screwed up his eyes, and fixed them for
a second upon the pockmarked, mottled, immobile face. His fingers
began to turn the leaves of the books still more rapidly. His face was
yellow and pale; he twisted his lips continually. At times he opened
his large gray eyes wide, as if he suffered from an intolerable pain,
and was ready to scream out in impotent anguish.

"Soldier!" Vyesovshchikov called out again. "Pick the books up!"

All the gendarmes turned their eyes on him, then looked at the officer.
He again raised his head, and taking in the broad figure of Nikolay
with a searching stare, he drawled:

"Well, well, pick up the books."

One gendarme bent down, and, looking slantwise at Vyesovshchikov, began
to collect the books scattered on the floor.

"Why doesn't Nikolay keep quiet?" the mother whispered to Pavel. He
shrugged his shoulders. The Little Russian drooped his head.

"What's the whispering there? Silence, please! Who reads the Bible?"

"I!" said Pavel.

"Aha! And whose books are all these?"

"Mine!" answered Pavel.

"So!" exclaimed the officer, th