CHAPTER XIX
From the main street four mounted policemen flourishing their knouts came riding into the by-street directly at the crowd.
"Disperse!"
"What sort of talking is going on?"
"Who's speaking?"
The people scowled, giving way to the horses unwillingly. Some climbed up on fences; raillery was heard here and there.
"They put pigs on horses; they grunt: 'Here we are, leaders, too!'" resounded a sonorous, provoking voice.
The Little Russian was left alone in the middle of the street; two horses shaking their manes pressed at him. He stepped aside, and at the same time the mother grasped his hand, pulling him away grumbling: