"You will have revolvers. So that if you see people known to you by their participation in secret societies--those people upon whom you spied in your time--who were released from the prisons to-day by the insubordination of the unbridled mob--kill them outright!" "That's reasonable," said somebody, whose voice resembled Pantaleyev's. "Either we, or they." "Of course. How else?" "The people have gotten their liberty, but what are we to do?" replied Viakhirev sharply. Yevsey walked into a corner, where he leaned against a pile of wood, and looked and listened in perplexity. "A body, a little body, a tiny, wee little calf, meat!" the senseless words of Solovyov spread out like a thick, oily spot. Dark, heavy walls of unequal height surrounded the court sternly. Overhead slowly floated the clouds. On the walls gleamed the square windows, scattered and dim. Klimkov saw a low porch in one corner of the court, upon which Sasha was standing, his overcoat buttoned to the top, his collar raised, and a low cap thrust on the back of his head. Above him swung a small lamp, whose feeble flame trembled and smoked, as if endeavoring to consume itself as quickly as possible. Behind Sasha's back was the black stain of the door. A few dark people sat on the steps of the porch at his feet. One, a tall grey person, stood in the doorway. "You must understand that you are given the liberty to make war upon the revolutionists," said Sasha, putting his hands behind his back. The air hummed with the scraping of soles on the flagging, with dry metallic raps, and, at times, with subdued voices uttering exclamations and officious advice. "Look out! Be more careful!" "We're not allowed to load the revolvers." The vaguely outlined figures in the dark strangely resembled one another--quiet black people scattered over the yard. They stood in compact groups, and listened to the viscid voice of Sasha, rocking and swinging on their feet, as if swayed by powerful puffs of wind. Sasha's talk drowned all sounds, filling Klimkov's breast with a dreary cold and acute hatred of the spy. "You are given the right to proceed against the rebels in an open fight. Upon you lies the duty to defend the deceived Czar with all possible means. And know that generous rewards await you. Who has not yet received a revolver? Come up here." Several muffled voices called out: "I--me--I." Some persons moved to the porch. Sasha stepped aside, and the grey man squatted down on his heels. "Mayn't I have two?" asked a lugubrious voice. "What for?" "For a comrade." "Go 'long!" The voices of the spies whom Yevsey knew sounded louder, braver, and jollier than before. "I'm not going to do any beating." "We've heard that," the hoarse voice of Pantaleyev sounded rudely. "Silence!" Someone smacking his lips greedily, complained: "I haven't enough cartridge. We ought to get a whole boxful." "I set things going in two station-houses to-day," said Sasha. "I'm tired."