Sasha drooped her head. Sofya, lighting a cigarette, looked at her brother, and with a broad sweep of her arm dropped the match in a corner.
"How is it possible they should not want it?" asked the mother with a sigh. Sofya nodded to her, smiling, and walked over to the window. The mother could not understand the failure of the others to respond, and looked at them in perplexity. She wanted so much to hear more about the possibility of an escape.
"I must see Vyesovshchikov," said Nikolay.
"All right. To-morrow I'll tell you when and where," replied Sasha.
"What is he going to do?" asked Sofya, pacing through the room.
"It's been decided to make him compositor in a new printing place. Until then he'll stay with the forester."
Sasha's brow lowered. Her face assumed its usual severe expression. Her voice sounded caustic. Nikolay walked up to the mother, who was washing cups, and said to her:
"You'll see Pasha day after to-morrow. Hand him a note when you're there. Do you understand? We must know."
"I understand. I understand," the mother answered quickly. "I'll deliver it to him all right. That's my business."
"I'm going," Sasha announced, and silently shook hands with everybody. She strode away, straight and dry-eyed, with a peculiarly heavy tread.