The youth was greatly taken aback at these words, and made a feeble attempt to defend himself.
"Ivan, you are a worthless fellow, I say. I regret that I chose you out to take part in this great work."
Ivan grew angry.
"What! you chose me! Why, it was I who chose you! Am I not the head of the conspiracy?"
"And am I not its soul?"
"What! with those weak pipe-stem arms of yours! Look at my arms! Look!" said Ivan, turning up his shirt sleeves and exposing his fleshy arms. "I could do more with one of my arms than you could with your whole body."
"And yet you are a coward if you ask, shall we succeed?"
"I'll show what I am when I am on the spot," said Ivan, sticking out his brawny chest and boastfully thumping it with his clenched fist; at that moment he wore the expression of a savage proud of his bones and sinews.
"Till then, however, let there be peace between us," said Bodza, extending his dry and skinny hand towards Ivan in token of reconciliation, and Ivan squeezed the hand with all his might, not so much to convince the master of the firmness of his friendship as to give him some idea of the expressive vigour of his grip.
Bodza did not move a muscle of his face during this violent tension; but, all at once, Ivan began writhing, his features contracted with pain, and he placed one hand on his stomach.