He did not raise his head, did not answer them, but went on, whistling a sharp, shrill whistle, mumbling dully to the horses.
Every time that Andrey's comrades gathered at the mother's house to read pamphlets or the new issue of the foreign papers, Nikolay came also, sat down in a corner, and listened in silence for an hour or two.
When the reading was over the young people entered into long discussions; but Vyesovshchikov took no part in the arguments.

He remained longer than the rest, and when alone, face to face with Andrey, he glumly put to him the question: "And who is the most to blame?
The Czar ?" "The one to blame is he who first said: 'This is mine.' That man has now been dead some several thousand years, and it's not worth the while to bear him a grudge," said the Little Russian, jesting.

His eyes, however, had a perturbed expression.
"And how about the rich, and those who stand up for them?
Are they right ?" The Little Russian clapped his hands to his head; then pulled his mustache, and spoke for a long time in simple language about life and about the people.

But from his talk it always appeared as if all the people were to blame, and this did not satisfy Nikolay.

Compressing his thick lips tightly, he shook his head in demur, and declared that he could not believe it was so, and that he did not understand it.