"Apparently our old methods of war upon the rebels are no good in these days of universal madness." "Ye-e-e-es, you can't put out fire with spittle," hissed Sasha, a smile distorting his face. Everybody was vexed and complained and shouted. Sasha drew up his long legs, and cried in mocking derision: "Aha! The gentlemen revolutionists are getting the better of us, eh?" He laughed, and his laugh irritated everybody. Yevsey felt that this man was not afraid of anything, and he endeavored not to hear his talk. The spies tossed about the streets day and night, and every evening brought long reports of their observations. They spoke to one another mournfully: "Is this the way to work nowadays? Dear me!" Apparently no one knew a means by which the elemental growth of the popular revolt could be restrained. "They will comb our curls," said Piotr, cracking his knuckles. "They'll take us off the list if we remain alive," Solovyov chimed in dismally. "If they would give us a pension at least! But they won't." "A noose around our necks, not a pension," said Melnikov sombrely. The spies were all exhausted and confused; all trembled in fear of the morrow. Both they and the officials seemed to have faded. The people who but a short time ago had been terrible in Yevsey's eyes, who had appeared to him to be the powerful and invincible masters of life, now ran from one corner of the Department of Safety to another, and fluttered about in the streets like last year's dried leaves. He observed with amazement that there were other people, cheerful, simple, and trusting, who were able to walk into the future, carelessly stepping over every obstacle and snare in their way, everyone of whom was good in his own fashion, and everyone of whom clearly hinted at the possibility of something better than himself. Yevsey compared them with the spies, who, unwillingly with clandestine tread, crept along the streets and into houses, and secretly spirited away these people at night, in order to seclude them in prisons. He clearly realized that the spies did not understand the aim of their work, did not believe that it was needful for life, and did not think or reason when, instinctively, according to their habit, they went about half-sick, half-drunk, driven by different fears. He liked the tranquil talk of Olga, her greyish blue eyes, and that live strong pity for people which sounded in the girl's every word. He liked the noisy, jesting, somewhat boastful talker Yakov, the careless Aleksey, good-naturedly ready to give away his last shirt and penny to anyone who asked for them. He met an increasing number of people new to him, in each of whom he perceived faith in the victory of his dream. And Yevsey involuntarily, insensibly, yielded to this faith.