"So for the sake of this life I am prepared for everything! I will tear my heart out, if necessary, and will trample it with my own feet!"
His face quivered and stiffened with excitement, and great, heavy tears rolled down one after the other.
Pavel raised his head and looked at him with a pale face and wide-open eyes. The mother raised herself a little over the table with a feeling that something great was growing and impending.
"What is the matter with you, Andrey?" Pavel asked softly.
The Little Russian shook his head, stretched himself like a violin string, and said, looking at the mother:
"I struck Isay."
She rose, and quickly walked up to him, all in a tremble, and seized his hands. He tried to free his right hand, but she held it firmly in her grasp and whispered hotly:
"My dear, my own, hush! It's nothing—it's nothing—nothing, Pasha! Andriushenka—oh, what a calamity! You sufferer! My darling heart!"
"Wait, mother," the Little Russian muttered hoarsely. "I'll tell you how it happened."
"Don't!" she whispered, looking at him with tears in her eyes. "Don't, Andriusha! It isn't our business. It's God's affair!"