The poor people were almost overcome with grief, many of them shedding tears, but none dared to disobey the orders of their master.
On the morning of Easter Monday, while the church bells were calling the inhabitants to religious services, and while every one else was about to enjoy a holiday, the unfortunate serfs started for the field to plough.
Michael arose rather late and took a walk about the farm.

The domestic servants were through with their work and had dressed themselves for the day, while Michael's wife and their widowed daughter (who was visiting them, as was her custom on holidays) had been to church and returned.

A steaming samovar awaited them, and they began to drink tea with Michael, who, after lighting his pipe, called the elder to him.
"Well," said the superintendent, "have you ordered the moujiks to plough to-day ?" "Yes, sir, I did," was the reply.
"Have they all gone to the field ?" "Yes, sir; all of them.

I directed them myself where to begin." "That is all very well.

You gave the orders, but are they ploughing?
Go at once and see, and you may tell them that I shall be there after dinner.