"You go to Yegor, and see if he doesn't know anything about it," Nikolay suggested, and quickly walked away.
She threw a kerchief on her head, and, seized with hope, swiftly sped along the streets. Her eyes dimmed and her heart beat faster. Her head drooped; she saw nothing about her. It was hot. The mother lost breath, and when she reached the stairway leading to Yegor's quarters, she stopped, too faint to proceed farther. She turned around and uttered an amazed, low cry, closing her eyes for a second. It seemed to her that Nikolay Vyesovshchikov was standing at the gate, his hands thrust into his pockets, regarding her with a smile. But when she looked again nobody was there.
"I imagined I saw him," she said to herself, slowly walking up the steps and listening. She caught the sound of slow steps, and stopping at a turn in the stairway, she bent over to look below, and again saw the pockmarked face smiling up at her.
"Nikolay! Nikolay!" she whispered, and ran down to meet him. Her heart, stung by disappointment, ached for her son.
"Go, go!" he answered in an undertone, waving his hand.
She quickly ran up the stairs, walked into Yegor's room, and found him lying on the sofa. She gasped in a whisper:
"Nikolay is out of prison!"
"Which Nikolay?" asked Yegor, raising his head from the pillow. "There are two there."
"Vyesovshchikov. He's coming here!"
"Fine! But I can't rise to meet him."