I will march with it at the head of the procession.
I suppose they'll put me in prison for it again." The mother's eyes began to burn.

An unpleasant, dry feeling came into her mouth.

Pavel took her hand and stroked it.
"I must do it! Please understand me! It is my happiness!" "I'm not saying anything," she answered, slowly raising her head; but when her eyes met the resolute gleam in his, she again lowered it.

He released her hand, and with a sigh said reproachfully: "You oughtn't to be grieved.

You ought to feel rejoiced.