when speaking about matters not pertaining to herself, but all he
said about her own woman's existence was bitterly familiar and true.
Hence it seemed to her that every word of his was perfectly true,
and her bosom throbbed with a gentle sensation which warmed it more
and more with an unknown, kindly caress.

"What do you want to do, then?" she asked, interrupting his speech.

"Study and then teach others. We workingmen must study. We must
learn, we must understand why life is so hard for us."

It was sweet to her to see that his blue eyes, always so serious and
stern, now glowed with warmth, softly illuminating something new
within him. A soft, contented smile played around her lips,
although the tears still trembled in the wrinkles of her face. She
wavered between two feelings: pride in her son who desired the good
of all people, had pity for all, and understood the sorrow and
affliction of life; and the involuntary regret for his youth,
because he did not speak like everybody else, because he resolved to
enter alone into a fight against the life to which all, including
herself, were accustomed.

She wanted to say to him: "My dear, what can you do? People will
crush you. You will perish."

But it was pleasant to her to listen to his speeches, and she feared
to disturb her delight in her son, who suddenly revealed himself so
new and wise, even if somewhat strange.

Pavel saw the smile around his mother's lips, the attention in her