THE guests turned out to be no other than our old friends Mashurina and Ostrodumov.They were both sitting in the poorly-furnished drawing room of Markelov's house, smoking and drinking beer by the light of a kerosene lamp.Neither of them showed the least astonishment when Nejdanov came in, knowing beforehand that Markelov had intended bringing him back, but Nejdanov was very much surprised on seeing them.On his entrance Ostrodumov merely muttered "Good evening," whilst Mashurina turned scarlet and extended her hand.Markelov began to explain that they had come from St.Petersburg about a week ago, Ostrodumov to remain in the province for some time for propaganda purposes, while Mashurina was to go on to K.to meet someone, also in connection with the cause.He then went on to say that the time had now come for them to do something practical, and became suddenly heated, although no one had contradicted him.He bit his lips, and in a hoarse, excited tone of voice began condemning the horrors that were taking place, saying that everything was now in readiness for them to start, that none but cowards could hold back, that a certain amount of violence was just as necessary as the prick of the lancet to the abscess, however ripe it might be! The lancet simile was not original, but one that he had heard somewhere.He seemed to like it, and made use of it on every possible occasion.
Losing all hope of Mariana's love, it seemed that he no longer cared for anything, and was only eager to get to work, to enter the field of action as soon as possible.He spoke harshly, angrily, but straight to the point like the blow of an axe, his words falling from his pale lips monotonously, ponderously, like the savage bark of a grim old watch dog.He said that he was well acquainted with both the peasants and factory men of the neighbourhood, and that there were possible people among them.
Instanced a certain Eremy, who, he declared, was prepared to go anywhere at a moment's notice.This man, Eremy, who belonged to the village Goloplok, was constantly on his lips.At nearly every tenth word he thumped his right hand on the table and waved the left in the air, the forefinger standing away from the others.
This sinewy, hairy hand, the finger, hoarse voice, flashing eyes, all produced a strong impression on his hearers.
Markelov had scarcely spoken to Nejdanov on the journey, and all his accumulated wrath burst forth now.Ostrodumov and Mashurina expressed their approval every now and again by a look, a smile, a short exclamation, but a strange feeling came over Nejdanov.He tried to make some sort of objection at first, pointing out the danger of hasty action and mentioned certain former premature attempts.He marvelled at the way in which everything was settled beyond a shadow of a doubt, without taking into consideration the special circumstances, or even trying to find out what the masses really wanted.At last his nerves became so highly strung that they trembled like the strings of an instrument, and with a sort of despair, almost with tears in his eyes, he began speaking at the top of his voice, in the same strain as Markelov, going even farther than he had done.What inspired him would be difficult to say; was it remorse for having been inactive of late, annoyance with himself and with others, a desire to drown the gnawings of an inner pain, or merely to show off before his comrades, whom he had not seen for some time, or had Markelov's words really had some effect upon him, fired his blood? They talked until daybreak; Ostrodumov and Mashurina did not once rise from their seats, while Markelov and Nejdanov remained on their feet all the time.Markelov stood on the same spot for all the world like a sentinel, and Nejdanov walked up and down the room with nervous strides, now slowly, now hurriedly.They spoke of the necessary means and measures to be employed, of the part each must take upon himself, selected and tied up various bundles of pamphlets and leaflets, mentioned a certain merchant, Golushkin, a nonconformist, as a very possible man, although uneducated, then a young propagandist, Kisliakov, who was very clever, but had an exaggerated idea of his own capabilities, and also spoke of Solomin...
"Is that the man who manages a cotton factory?" Nejdanov asked, recalling what Sipiagin had said of him at table.
"Yes, that is the man," Markelov replied."You should get to know him.We have not sounded him as yet, but I believe he is an extremely capable man."Eremy of Goloplok was mentioned again, together with Sipiagin's servant, Kirill, and a certain Mendely, known under the name of "Sulks." The latter it seemed was not to be relied upon.He was very bold when sober, but a coward when drunk, and was nearly always drunk.
"And what about your own people?" Nejdanov asked of Markelov.
"Are there any reliable men among them?"
Markelov thought there were, but did not mention anyone by name, however.He went on to talk of the town tradespeople, of the public-school boys, who they thought might come in useful if matters were to come to fisticuffs.Nejdanov also inquired about the gentry of the neighbourhood, and learned from Markelov that there were five or six possible young men--among them, but, unfortunately, the most radical of them was a German, "and you can't trust a German, you know, he is sure to deceive you sooner or later!" They must wait and see what information Kisliakov would gather.Nejdanov also asked about the military, but Markelov hesitated, tugged at his long whiskers, and announced at last that with regard to them nothing certain was known as yet, unless Kisliakov had made any discoveries.
"Who is this Kisliakov? " Nejdanov asked impatiently.
Markelov smiled significantly.
