“He has insulted the audience!⁠ ⁠… Verhovensky!” the angry section roared. They even wanted to rush in pursuit of him. It was impossible to appease them, at the moment, anyway, and⁠—a final catastrophe broke like a bomb on the assembly and exploded in its midst: the third reader, the maniac who kept waving his fist behind the scenes, suddenly ran on to the platform. He looked like a perfect madman. With a broad, triumphant smile, full of boundless self-confidence, he looked round at the agitated hall and he seemed to be delighted at the disorder. He was not in the least disconcerted at having to speak in such an uproar, on the contrary, he was obviously delighted. This was so obvious that it attracted attention at once.

“What’s this now?” people were heard asking. “Who is this? Sh-h! What does he want to say?”