I’ve been meaning to drop in on you, but I’ve had no time. I cook things and sell them, but I’m evidently going to die a beggar. My lovers get the better of me, the devils! They keep gnawing and gnawing away at me, like cockroaches at a cottage loaf. You get ten roubles or so together, then some beast appears and licks the money up! It’s a troublesome business being a woman! A filthy job in the world! Living alone’s tough; living together’s rough!”

“I’ve come to ask you if I can be your assistant!” said Vlasova, interrupting her chatter.

“How’s that?” Maria asked, and, after hearing her friend out, she gave an affirmative nod of the head.

“Yes! Remember, you used to keep me hidden from my husband? Well, now I’ll keep you hidden from need… Everyone ought to help you, because your son’s in trouble for a public cause. That’s a good lad you’ve got – everyone says so, unanimously – and everyone feels sorry for him. I tell you: these arrests’ll do the authorities no good – just look at what’s happening at the factory. Bad things are being said, dear! The bosses, they think a man won’t get far if they’ve nipped at his heel! But the way it turns out is they’ve hit a dozen, and now hundreds are angry!”

The conversation ended such that, at dinner time the next day, Vlasova was at the factory with two pots of Maria’s cooking, while Maria herself went to trade at the market.

XV

The workers noticed the new trader at once. Some went up to her and said approvingly:

“Getting down to business are you, Nilovna?”

And some tried to comfort her, explaining that Pavel would soon be released, while others troubled her sad heart with words of condolence, and still others were bitterly critical of the director and the gendarmes, which found a responsive echo in her breast. There were those who looked at her and gloated, and the timekeeper Isai Gorbov said through his teeth:

“If I was the Governor, I’d hang your son! Don’t get people all muddled!”

This vicious threat sent a wave of deathly cold washing over her. She said nothing to Isai in response, but only glanced at his small, freckled face and lowered her eyes to the ground with a sigh.

The factory was restless: workers gathered in little knots, discussing things under their breath between themselves; preoccupied foremen darted about everywhere; and at times oaths and irritated laughter rang out.

Two policemen led Samoilov past her; he walked with one hand thrust into his pocket, while the other smoothed his reddish hair.

He was accompanied by a crowd of workers about a hundred strong, who drove the policemen on with abuse and gibes…

“Going for a walk, Grisha?” someone shouted to him.

“It’s an honour for the likes of us!” another supported him. “Walking with a guard…”

And he swore violently.

“There’s evidently no profit in catching thieves now!” said a tall, one-eyed worker in a loud, angry voice. “They’ve started dragging honest men away…”

“They might at least do it at night!” echoed someone from the crowd. “But here they are in the daytime, shameless – the swine!”

The policemen walked sullenly, quickly, trying not to see anything and pretending not to hear the exclamations that accompanied them. Three workers were carrying a large strip of iron towards them and, pointing it at them, cried:

“Watch out, fishermen!”

Walking past Vlasova, Samoilov nodded his head to her and said with a grin:

“They’re lugging me off!”

She bowed down low to him in silence, for she was moved by these young, honest, sober people going off to prison with smiles on their faces; rising within her was a mother’s compassionate love for them.

Returning from the factory, she spent the whole day at Maria’s, helping her with her work and listening to her chatter, and went back late in the evening to her own house, which was empty, cold and comfortless. She spent a long time pacing from corner to corner, beside herself and not knowing what to do. And she was worried that it would soon be night, but Yegor Ivanovich had not yet brought the literature as he had promised.

There were glimpses outside the window of heavy, grey flakes of autumn snow. Softly sticking to the window panes, they slipped noiselessly down and melted, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She thought about her son…

There was a cautious knock at the door, the mother ran over to it quickly and released the hook, and in came Sashenka. The mother had not seen her for a long time, and the first thing that struck her now was the girl’s unnatural plumpness.

“Hello!” she said, rejoicing that someone had come and that for a part of the night she would not be lonely. “I’ve not seen you for a long time. Have you been away?”

“No, I’ve been in prison!” the girl replied, smiling. “Along with Nikolai Ivanovich – do you remember him?”

“How could I forget him!” exclaimed the mother. “Yegor Ivanovich told me yesterday that he’d been released, but I didn’t know about you… No one even said you were there…”

“What is there to say about it? I need to change my clothes before Yegor Ivanovich arrives!” said the girl, looking around.

“You’re all wet…”

“I’ve brought the leaflets and booklets…”

“Come on then, come on!” the mother was suddenly in a hurry.

The girl quickly undid her coat and shook herself – and, like leaves from a tree, rustling sheaves of paper were scattered over the floor. Laughing, the mother picked them up from the floor and said:

“And I’m looking at you, and you’re all plump – I thought you’d got married and were expecting a little one. Oh dear, what a lot you’ve brought! Surely not on foot?”

“Yes!” said Sashenka. She had now become shapely and slim again, like before. The mother saw that her cheeks had sunk, her eyes had become huge and dark shadows had appeared beneath them.

“They’ve only just released you, and you could do with a rest, but not you!” said the mother, sighing and shaking her head.

“It’s got to be done!” the girl answered with a shudder. “Tell me, how’s Pavel Mikhailovich? Is he all right?… He isn’t too anxious?”

Sashenka did not look at the mother as she asked; with her head bowed, she was putting her hair straight, and her fingers were trembling.

“He’s all right!” the mother replied. “He won’t give himself away, you know.”

“His health is good, isn’t it?” the girl asked quietly.

“He’s not been ill, not ever!” the mother replied. “You’re trembling all over.