Count Maximof drove straight to the Starost's house; this was the elected chief-peasant of the village, and the Barin put up his trap here, leaving with Gavril, the driver, a message for the Starost that if he were too late and the marriage should have taken place against his wishes and commands, the entire population should be not only fined but flogged also. The Starost sent over for Ivan Patkin, the bridegroom, and communicated to him the disturbing news: the Barin had arrived to stop the wedding. The Starost was a sturdy independent man, like the rest of the Drevno villagers; he was entirely on Ivan's side in the matter. "But the Barin is the Barin," he observed, "and the priest will obey him. He has gone straight to Father Michael's. What is to be done?" Ivan Patkin stood and cursed and fingered the axe which hung at his belt. He was anxious to marry Olga, to whom he was sincerely attached. This fatal-looking hitch at the last moment was maddening. His eyes seemed to grow red in a sudden access of rage and of hatred for the Barin. "I will kill the devil," he said. "The old men tell us that the peasants of the next estate rose against their Barin, who oppressed them, and slew him, and that the Tsaritsa Catherine closed her eyes. Let us do the same." "No," said the Starost; "that is going too far, Ivan. The Tsar Paul is not like his mother and the laws are different also. Disappear in the forest with Olga, if you will, and be married to-morrow, or to-night after the Barin has gone. You will be knouted, no doubt, and fined, but you will have Olga." Ivan was too wild with rage to argue quietly. "I see there is no help to be got from you," he said, and he withdrew hastily to take counsel with others. On his way through the village he met the Barin himself returning from his visit to the priest whom he had abused and threatened and browbeaten until the unfortunate cleric began to fear that the furious man would end by knouting him, but Maximof dared not raise his hand to beat the priest, though his fingers itched to flog some one. It was at this moment that he met Ivan. Ivan, though furious, nevertheless removed his cap upon encountering his master. The peasant in him was too strong. Away from the Barin he would have told himself that he would not only not salute the Count if he should meet him, but that he would fall upon him and strangle the tyrant. In the Barin's presence he was cowed and his independence and courage vanished, though not his hatred. "Who are you?" said the angry Count. "Ivan Patkin," replied the man. Then the Barin fell upon him, raining abuses and curses and knout-blows; and in a moment the wretched peasant was upon his knees blubbering and beseeching, rage in his heart, but in his veins the craven blood distilled by generations of oppression.