"Who is it?"
"I," said Lunev softly, and straightened himself.
"Give me something to drink!"
Ilya turned round. There was a loud knocking at the door, and some one called out:
"We'll try it from the stairs at the back!"
"Run for the police!" said another.
Petrusha's whimpering rose above the noise: "You all saw it! I never touched him. O—oh!"
Ilya smiled rejoicingly. He liked to realise that Petrusha was suffering. He stepped to the door and began to parley with the besiegers.
"Hullo, you there! Stop your noise! If I gave him one in the mouth, he won't die of it, and I'll take my punishment from the magistrate. Don't you shove yourselves in! Don't bang on the door! I'll open it."
He opened the door, and stood on the threshold, his fists clenched in case of an attack. The crowd gave back before his strong figure and fighting look. Only Petrusha growled, pushing the others aside: