le man, although uneducated, then a young propagandist,
Kisliakov, who was very clever, but had an exaggerated idea of his own
capabilities, and also spoke of Solomin...

"Is that the man who manages a cotton factory?" Nejdanov asked,
recalling what Sipiagin had said of him at table.

"Yes, that is the man," Markelov replied. "You should get to know him.
We have not sounded him as yet, but I believe he is an extremely capable
man."

Eremy of Goloplok was mentioned again, together with Sipiagin's servant,
Kirill, and a certain Mendely, known under the name of "Sulks." The
latter it seemed was not to be relied upon. He was very bold when sober,
but a coward when drunk, and was nearly always drunk.

"And what about your own people?" Nejdanov asked of Markelov. "Are there
any reliable men among them?"

Markelov thought there were, but did not mention anyone by name,
however. He went on to talk of the town tradespeople, of the
public-school boys, who they thought might come in useful if matters
were to come to fisticuffs. Nejdanov also inquired about the gentry of
the neighbourhood, and learned from Markelov that there were five or six
possible young men--among them, but, unfortunately, the most radical of
them was a German, "and you can't trust a German, you know, he is sure
to deceive you sooner or later!" They must wait and see what information
Kisliakov would gather. Nejdanov also asked about the military, but
Markelov hesitated, tugged at his long whiskers, and announced at
last that with regard to them nothing certain was known as yet, unless
Kisliakov had made any discoveries.

"Who is this Kisliakov?" Nejdanov asked impatiently.

Markelov smiled significantly.

"He's a wonderful person," he declared. "I know very little of him,
have only met him twice, but you should see what letters he writes!
Marvellous letters! I will show them to you and you can judge for
yourself. He is full of enthusiasm. And what activity the man is capable
of! He has rushed over the length and breadth of Russia five or six
times, and written a twelve-page letter from every place!"

Nejdanov looked questioningly at Ostrodumov, but the latter was sitting
like a statue, not an eyebrow twitching. Mashurina was also motionless,
a bitter smile playing on her lips.

Nejdanov went on to ask Markelov if he had made any socialist
experiments on his own estate, but here Ostrodumov interrupted him.

"What is the good of all that?" he asked.