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.