Again Gabriel’s voice quivered, and he could say no more, but turned round and went out.
It was seven miles from the Court to the village, and it was getting late when Iván reached home. He unharnessed his horse, put it up for the night, and entered the cottage. No one was there. The women had already gone to drive the cattle in, and the young fellows were not yet back from the fields. Iván went in, and sat down, thinking. He remembered how Gabriel had listened to the sentence, and how pale he had become, and how he had turned to the wall; and Iván’s heart grew heavy. He thought how he himself would feel if he were sentenced, and he pitied Gabriel. Then he heard his old father up on the oven cough, and saw him sit up, lower his legs, and scramble down. The old man dragged himself slowly to a seat, and sat down. He was quite tired out with the exertion, and coughed a long time till he had cleared his throat. Then, leaning against the table, he said: “Well, has he been condemned?”
“Yes, to twenty strokes with the rods,” answered Iván.
The old man shook his head.
“A bad business,” said he. “You are doing wrong, Iván! Ah! it’s very bad—not for him so much as for yourself! … Well, they’ll flog him: but will that do you any good?”
“He’ll not do it again,” said Iván.
“What is it he’ll not do again? What has he done worse than you?”
“Why, think of the harm he has done me!” said Iván. “He nearly killed my wife, and now he’s threatening to burn us up. Am I to thank him for it?”