"I think they probably will. Such an event! Why, it's a revolt, a real revolt."
"To-morrow we will know."
"How much blood has been shed! What is it?"
Maklakov's eye ran about uneasily. To-day his shoulders seemed more stooping than ever, and the ends of his mustache dropped downward.
Something seemed to be revolting in Yevsey's brain, and Maklakov's grim words kept repeating themselves.
"A different order of life—different."
They gripped at his heart, arousing a sharp desire to extract their meaning. But everything around him turned and darted hither and thither. Melnikov's angry, resonant voice sounded sickeningly:
"The thing is, to know what people did it. The working-people are one thing, simply residents another. This differentiation must be made."
And Krasavin spoke distinctly:
"If even the people begin to revolt against the Czar, then there are no people any more, only rebels."