About midday Yevsey was awakened by Viekov dressed in an overcoat and hat. He looked downcast. He shook the back of the bed, and said in a muffled voice, monotonously: "Hey, Klimkov, get up. They are summoning everybody to the office. Hey, Klimkov--they have proclaimed the constitution. They are summoning all the agents from their lodgings. Filip Filippovich gave the order. Do you hear, Klimkov?" His words fell like large drops of rain, full of sadness. His face was drawn, as with the toothache. His eyes blinked frequently, as if he were about to cry. "What is it?" asked Yevsey jumping from bed. Viekov pursed his lips dismally. "Is it possible to understand? They said yesterday the Czar would give a full constitution, and to-day here's the manifesto, he's actually giving it. Our Department has become like an insane asylum--that Sasha is such a coarse creature, astonishing. He keeps shouting, 'Strike, slash,' and so forth. Why, look here, I wouldn't make up my mind to kill a man even for five hundred rubles. Yet he proposes we should kill for forty rubles a month. Why, it's savagery even to listen to such talk." Viekov puffed his cheeks, and sighed in weariness of spirit, as he paced up and down the room. "It's horrible. Dress quickly. We must go." Pulling on his trousers Klimkov asked musingly: "Whom do they want us to kill?" "The revolutionists. Although what revolutionists are there now? According to the Czar's ukase, you'd suppose the revolution was ended. They tell us we should gather the people in the streets, march with flags, and sing, 'God Save the Czar.' Well, why not sing, if liberty has been granted? But then they say that while doing this, we should shout 'Down with the constitution,' and so forth. I can't for the life of me understand. That's going against the manifesto and the will of the Czar Emperor. There are many besides me who don't understand it. I'm not the only one." His voice sounded protesting, insulted, his legs clapped together. He seemed as soft as if his bones had been removed from his body. "I'm not going there," said Klimkov. "What do you mean?" "Just so. First I'll walk the streets, and see what they're going to do." Viekov sighed again, and whistled. "Yes, of course. You're a single man. But when you have a family, that is, a woman who demands this, that, the fifth thing, and the tenth thing, then you'll go where you don't want to, yes, you will. The need for a living compels a man to dance a tightrope. When I see tricks on a tightrope, my head begins to turn, and I feel a pain in the lower part of my chest. But I think to myself, 'If it would be necessary for your livelihood, then you, too, Ivan Petrovich Viekov, would dance a tightrope.' Yes, indeed. A poor man must live by doing things that wring his heart, and whether he wants to or not. Such is the law of nature, as Grokhotov says."