From the corner of her eye the mother stealthily regarded his broad, pockmarked face, endeavoring to find something in it to reconcile her to the unwieldy, square figure of Vyesovshchikov.

Her eyebrows fluttered whenever she encountered the shooting glance of his little eyes.

Andrey held his head in his hands; he became restless--he suddenly laughed, and then abruptly stopped, and began to whistle.
It seemed to the mother that she understood his disquietude.

Nikolay sat at the table without saying anything; and when the Little Russian addressed a question to him, he answered briefly, with evident reluctance.
The little room became too narrow and stifling for its two occupants, and they glanced, now the one, now the other, at their guest.
At length Nikolay rose and said: "I'd like to go to bed.

I sat and sat in prison--suddenly they let me go; I'm off!--I'm tired!" He went into the kitchen and stirred about for a while.