Pavel arranged his hair with a quick gesture, and went to his mother.
"Mother, I will not tell you anything; and don't you tell me anything, either.

Right, mother ?" "All right, all right! God bless you!" she murmured.
When she went out and heard the holiday hum of the people's voices--an anxious and expectant hum--when she saw everywhere, at the gates and windows, crowds of people staring at Andrey and her son, a blur quivered before her eyes, changes from a transparent green to a muddy gray.
People greeted them--there was something peculiar in their greetings.
She caught whispered, broken remarks: "Here they are, the leaders!" "We don't know who the leaders are!" "Why, I didn't say anything wrong." At another place some one in a yard shouted excitedly: "The police will get them, and that'll be the end them!" "What if they do ?" retorted another voice.
Farther on a crying woman's voice leaped frightened the window to the street: "Consider! Are you a single man, are you?
They are bachelors and don't care!" When they passed the house of Zosimov, the man without legs, who received a monthly allowance from the factory because of his mutilation, he stuck his head through, the window and cried out: "Pavel, you scoundrel, they'll wring your head off for your doings, you'll see!" The mother trembled and stopped.

The exclamation aroused in her a sharp sensation of anger.

She looked up at the thick, bloated face of the cripple, and he hid himself, cursing.

Then she quickened her pace, overtook her son, and tried not to fall behind again.