Vera (smiling). I don't know; there is so much else to do in the world but love.
Mich. Nothing else worth doing, Vera.
Peter. What noise is that, Vera? (A metallic clink is heard.)
Vera (rising and going to the door). I don't know, Father; it is not like the cattle bells, or I would think Nicholas had come from the fair. Oh! Father! it is soldiers!—coming down the hill—there is one of them on horseback. How pretty they look! But there are some men with them with chains on! They must be robbers. Oh! don't let them in, Father; I couldn't look at them.
Peter. Men in chains! Why, we are in luck, my child! I heard this was to be the new road to Siberia, to bring the prisoners to the mines; but I didn't believe it. My fortune is made! Bustle, Vera, bustle! I'll die a rich man after all. There will be no lack of good customers now. An honest man should have the chance of making his living out of rascals now and then.
Vera. Are these men rascals, Father? What have they done?
Peter. I reckon they're some of those Nihilists the priest warns us against. Don't stand there idle, my girl.
Vera. I suppose, then, they are all wicked men.
(Sound of soldiers outside; cry of "Halt!" enter Russian officer with a body of soldiers and eight men in chains, raggedly dressed; one of them on entering hurriedly puts his coat above his ears and hides his face; some soldiers guard the door, others sit down; the prisoners stand.)
Colonel. Innkeeper!