"Isay?"
"Yes, he's a bad man. He spies after everybody, fishes about everywhere for information. He has begun to frequent this street, and peers into our windows."
"Peers into your windows?"
The mother was already in bed and did not see his face. But she understood that she had said too much, because the Little Russian hastened to interpose in order to conciliate Nikolay.
"Let him peer! He has leisure. That's his way of killing time."
"No hold on!" said Nikolay. "There! He is to blame!"
"To blame for what?" the Little Russian asked brusquely. "Because he's a fool?"
But Vyesovshchikov did not stop to answer and walked away.
The Little Russian began to pace up and down the room, slowly and languidly. He had taken off his boots as he always did when the mother was in bed in order not to disturb her. But she was not asleep, and when Nikolay had left she said anxiously:
"I'm so afraid of that man. He's just like an overheated oven. He does not warm things, but scorches them."