All attention, the mother turned her head in all directions, her eyes seeing everything, believing nothing. This thing which she had pictured as terrible and intricate was accomplished with extreme simplicity and rapidity, and the simpleness of the happenings stupefied her. Rybin was no longer to be seen—a tall man in a thin overcoat was walking there—a girl was running along. Three wardens jumped out from a corner of the prison; they ran side by side, stretching out their right hands. One of the soldiers rushed in front of them; the other ran around the horse, unsuccessfully trying to vault on the refractory animal, which kept jumping about. The whistles incessantly cut the air, their alarming, desperate shrieks aroused a consciousness of danger in the woman. Trembling, she walked along the fence of the cemetery, following the wardens; but they and the soldiers ran around the other corner of the prison and disappeared. They were followed at a run by the assistant overseer of the prison, whom she knew; his coat was unbuttoned. From somewhere policemen appeared, and people came running.
The wind whistled, leaped about as if rejoicing, and carried the broken, confused shouts to the mother's ears.
"It stands here all the time."
"The ladder?"
"What's the matter with you then? The devil take you!"
"Arrest the soldiers!"
"Policeman!"
Whistles again. This hubbub delighted her and she strode on more boldly, thinking, "So, it's possible—he could have done it!"
But now pain for her son no longer entered her heart without pride in him also. And only fear for him weighed and oppressed her to stupefaction as before.
From the corner of the fence opposite her a constable with a black, curly beard, and two policemen emerged.