“Neither your father nor any uncle of yours has served the Tsar,” Doútlof was saying at the same time. “Why, you have not even served the proprietress or the Commune, but spend all your time in the pub. Your sons have separated from you because it’s impossible to live with you, so you go suggesting other people’s sons for recruits! And I have done police duty for ten years and been churchwarden. Twice I have suffered from fires, and no one helped me over it; and now, because things go on peaceably and honourably in my homestead, am I to be ruined?⁠ ⁠… Give me my brother back, then! I dare say he has died in service.⁠ ⁠… Judge righteously, according to God’s will, Christian Commune, and don’t listen to a drunkard’s drivel.”

And at the same time Gerásim was saying to Doútlof:

“You are using your brother as an excuse, but he was not enlisted by the Commune. He was sent by the proprietor because of his evil ways, so he is no excuse for you.”

Gerásim had not finished when the long, yellow-faced Theodore Mélnitchny stepped forward and began dismally: