"What are you standing there for, you vile serfs? have I got to lay hands on him myself, I 'd like to know?"
Yúditch started for the door.
"Stop!" yelled Iván Andréevitch.—"Yúditch, for the last time I say to thee, I entreat thee, Yúditch, confess."
"I cannot," moaned Yúditch.
"Then seize him, the old sycophant!... Flog him to death! On my head be it!" thundered the maddened old man. The torture began....
Suddenly the door flew open, and Vasíly entered. He was almost paler than his father, his hands trembled, his upper lip was raised and disclosed a row of white, even teeth.
"I am guilty," he said in a dull but steady voice.—"I took the money."
The men stopped short.
"Thou! what?! thou, Váska! without the consent of Yúditch?"