Presently Andrey got up and carefully picked his way through and out of the kitchen, quietly shutting the door after him.

The noise of the iron bucket was heard on the porch.

Suddenly the door was flung wide open; the Little Russian entered the kitchen, and announced in a loud whisper: "I hear the jingling of spurs in the street!" The mother jumped out of bed, catching at her dress with a trembling hand; but Pavel came to the door and said calmly: "You stay in bed; you're not feeling well." A cautious, stealthy sound was heard on the porch.

Pavel went to the door and knocking at it with his hand asked: "Who's there ?" A tall, gray figure tumultuously precipitated itself through the doorway; after it another; two gendarmes pushed Pavel back, and stationed themselves on either side of him, and a loud mocking voice called out: "No one you expect, eh ?" The words came from a tall, lank officer, with a thin, black mustache.
The village policeman, Fedyakin, appeared at the bedside of the mother, and, raising one hand to his cap, pointed the other at her face and, making terrible eyes, said: "This is his mother, your honor!" Then, waving his hand toward Pavel: "And this is he himself." "Pavel Vlasov ?" inquired the officer, screwing up his eyes; and when Pavel silently nodded his head, he announced, twirling his mustache: "I have to make a search in your house.

Get up, old woman!" "Who is there ?" he asked, turning suddenly and making a dash for the door.
"Your name ?" His voice was heard from the other room.
Two other men came in from the porch: the old smelter Tveryakov and his lodger, the stoker Rybin, a staid, dark-colored peasant.