He was a thin person, who moved about freely and deliberately. The gravity of his voice did not accord very well with his small light beard and his sharp, somewhat bald skull. His face was small, thin, insignificant, his eyes, large and hazel. "A revolutionist," was Yevsey's mental observation, as he silently pressed the joiner's hand. "Time for me to be going," he announced unexpectedly to everybody. "Where to?" cried Anfisa, unceremoniously seizing his hand. "Say, you merchant, don't break up our company. Look, Matvey, what a present he gave me." Zimin looked at Yevsey, and said thoughtfully: "Yesterday they got another order in our factory for fifteen thousand rubles. A drawing-room, a cabinet, a bed-room, and a salon--four rooms. All the orders come from the military. They stole a whole lot of money, and now they want to live after the latest fashion." "There you are!" Yevsey exclaimed mentally, vexed and heated. "Begins the minute he comes in! Oh, Lord!" He felt a painful ache in his chest, as if something inside him had been torn. Without thinking of what his question would lead to, he quickly asked the joiner: "Are there any revolutionists in the factory?" As if touched to the quick, Zimin quickly turned to him, and looked into his eyes. The cook frowned, and said in a voice dissatisfied but not loud: "They say revolutionists are everywhere nowadays." "From smartness or stupidity?" asked Liza. Unable to withstand the hard searching look of the joiner, Klimkov slowly bowed his head, though he followed the workingman with a sidelong glance. "Why does that interest you?" Zimin inquired politely but sternly. "I have no interest in it," Yevsey answered lazily. "Ah! Then why do you ask?" "Just so," said Yevsey; and in a few seconds added, "Out of politeness." The joiner smiled. It seemed to Yevsey that three pairs of eyes were looking at him suspiciously and severely. He felt awkward, and something bitter nipped his throat. Masha came out of the cook's room, smiling guiltily. When she looked at the others' faces, the smile disappeared. "What's the matter?" "It's the wine," flashed through Yevsey's mind. He rose to his feet, shook himself, and said. "Don't think I asked for no reason at all. I asked because I wanted to tell her long ago--your sister--about you." Zimin also rose. His face gathered in wrinkles, and turned yellow. "What can you tell her about me?" he asked with calm dignity. Masha's quiet whisper reached Yevsey's ear. "What's up between them?" "Wait," said Anfisa. "I know," said Yevsey. He had the sensation that he was being swung from the floor into the air light as a feather. He seemed to see everything, observe everything with marvellous plainness. "I know you're being followed--followed by the agents of the Department of Safety, I know you're a revolutionist." The cook shook in her chair, crying out in astonishment and fright: "Matvey, what does this mean?"