Piotr, in reply to Rameyev, began to tell about working-men’s disturbances and projected strikes. Irritation was evident in his voice. He was one of those who was intensely troubled by problems of a religious-philosophical character. He thought that the mystical existence of human unities might be achieved only under the brilliant and alluring sway of Caesars and Popes. He imagined that he loved freedom--Christian freedom--yet all the turbulent movements of newly awakened life aroused only hate in his heart. “There’s terrible news,” said Piotr; “a general strike is talked of. It is reported that all the factories will shut down to-morrow.” Misha burst into an unexpected laugh; it was loud, merry, and childlike; and there was almost rapture in his remark: “But you ought to see the sort of face the Headmaster makes on all such occasions.” His voice was tender and sonorous, and it rang so softly and sweetly that he might have been telling about the blessed and the innocent, about the chaste play on the threshold of paradisian abodes. The words “strike” and “obstruction” came from his lips like the names of rare, sweet morsels. He grew cheerful and had a sudden desire to make things lively in schoolboy fashion. He began to sing loudly: “Awake, rise up....” But he became confused, stopped sadly, grew quiet, and blushed. The sisters laughed. Piotr had a surly look. Rameyev smiled benignly. Miss Harrison, pretending not to have noticed the discordant incident, calmly pressed the button of the electric bell attached on a cord to the hanging light to bring on the next course. The dinner proceeded slowly in the usual order. The discussion grew hotter, and went helter-skelter from subject to subject. Such is said to be the Russian manner in argument. Perhaps it is the universal manner of people when discussing something that touches them deeply. Piotr exclaimed hotly: “Why is the autocracy of the proletariat better than the one already in force? And what wild, barbarous watchwords they have! ‘Who is not with us, he is against us!’ ‘Who is master, let him get down from his place; it’s our banquet.’” “It’s yet too early to speak of our banquet,” said Elena in a restrained voice. “Do you know where we are drifting?” continued Piotr. “There will be a reign of terror, and a shaking up such as Russia has not yet experienced. The point at issue is not that there is talking or doing here or there by certain gentry who imagine that they are making history. The real issue is in the clash of two classes, two interests, two cultures, two conceptions of the world, two moral systems. Who is it that wishes to seize the crown of lordship? It is the _Kham_,[3] it is he who threatens to devour our culture.” Elisaveta said reproachfully: “What a word--_Kham_!” Piotr smiled in a nervous and aggrieved manner, and asked: “You don’t like it?” “I don’t like it,” said Elisaveta calmly.