Another. My children have no bread. But the taxes are paid.
Adr. You have done your best, and I can not believe that you will be harmed.
A peasant. It makes no difference how we do. There were good men at Petoff. [A man staggers in]
Adr. Kalushkin!
Uli. [Rushing to him] My Petrov! Out of your bed! Why did you come?
Kalushkin. We are to be lined up in the street and every tenth man flogged.
[Silence. Then a woman hurries in]
Adr. Anna!
Anna. [Kneeling before Adrian] My lad—they have taken him! His father died last night. You know how he died. He was starved. He left the bread for me and the lad. And now they have taken him—my boy—[sobbing]