“Fly from evil and do good,” said the priest to his wife. “There is no need for us to remain here; it does not concern us, however the business may end.”
The priest’s wife made some reply, but Vladimir could not hear what she said.
Approaching the house, he saw a crowd of people; peasants and servants of the household were flocking into the courtyard. In the distance Vladimir could hear an unusual noise and murmur of voices. Near the coach-house stood two troikas. On the steps several unknown men in uniform were seemingly engaged in conversation.
“What does this mean?” he asked angrily of Anton, who ran forward to meet him. “Who are these people, and what do they want?”
“Oh, father Vladimir Andreivitch,” replied Anton, out of breath, “the Court has come. They are giving us over to Troekouroff, they are taking us from your Honour!...”
Vladimir hung down his head; his people surrounded their unhappy master.
“You are our father,” they cried, kissing his hands.
“We want no other master but you. We will die, but we will not leave you. Give us the order, Your Lordship, and we will soon settle matters with the Court.”
Vladimir looked at them, and dark thoughts rose within him.
“Keep quiet,” he said to them: “I will speak to the officers.”