"If he has done something wrong, lead him to court."
"And don't beat him!"
"Forgive him, your Honor!"
"Now, really, what does it mean? Without any law whatever!"
"Why, is it possible? If they begin to beat everybody that way, what'll happen then?"
"The devils! Our torturers!"
The people fell into two groups—the one surrounding the police commissioner shouted and exhorted him; the other, less numerous, remained about the beaten man, humming and sullen. Several men lifted him from the ground. The policemen again wanted to bind his hands.
"Wait a little while, you devils!" the people shouted.
Rybin wiped the blood from his face and beard and looked about in silence. His gaze glided by the face of the mother. She started, stretched herself out to him, and instinctively waved her hand. He turned away; but in a few minutes his eyes again rested on her face. It seemed to her that he straightened himself and raised his head, that his blood-covered cheeks quivered.