He again hesitated, and looked into the officer's eyes. They were clear, calm eyes. The guard came a step nearer.
The officer looked down, turned towards the window and asked more gently: 'You had supper together in the cottage. Then you went out with them. Did they beat you on the way?'
He turned suddenly and looked at Yakob. The peasant stood, looked at the grey snowflakes outside the window, and his face, partly black, partly pallid, was wrinkled in deep folds.
'Well, what have you got to say?'
'It was I…' This interrogation made him alternately hot and cold.
'You who beat them, and not they who beat you?' laughed the officer.
'The meat is still there in the cottage, and here is what they gave me,' he said, holding up the muffler and tobacco.
The officer threw his cigarette away and turned on his heel. Yakob's eyes became dull, his arm with the muffler dropped.
The officer wrote an order. 'Take him away.' They passed the schoolmaster and some women and soldiers in the passage.
'Well…well…' they whispered, leaning against the wall.