This was the tone Artyom had adopted when he conversed with roughs. His slow, calm, and indifferent manner of speaking added a peculiar emphasis to his words, which never failed to be rude and wounding. Possibly he felt that the men of this class were worse than himself in many ways, but at all times, and as regarded all matters, more keen-witted.

Cain now appeared, carrying his peddler’s box on his chest, and with a yellow cotton dress over his left arm. Unable to throw off his habitual feeling of fear, he stood a moment on the threshold, craning his neck, and looking into the room with an uneasy smile, but on catching sight of Artyom, his face beamed with joy. Artyom looked at him, and gave him a broad smile.

“Come here and sit with me,” he called to Cain; and then, turning to the Bridegroom, said in a mocking tone of command:

“And you, clear out. Make room for a man.”

The Bridegroom’s ugly face, with its bristles of red hair, became for an instant petrified with astonishment and disgust. He rose slowly, looked towards his comrades, who were not less taken by surprise, then towards Cain, who was walking noiselessly and cautiously up to the table; then he suddenly spat upon the floor and exclaimed angrily, “Faugh!”

He went slowly and silently back to his own table, and immediately there arose a muffled murmur of voices, amid which could be clearly distinguished tones of fury and sarcasm.

Cain continued to smile, in joyful confusion, but at the same time he shot anxious glances across to where the Bridegroom and his companions were sitting.

Then Artyom addressed him good-humoredly.

“Well, let’s have tea, you merchant. Let us get some patties; will you eat some? Why do you look that way? Spit at them, don’t be afraid. Wait a moment! I’ll read them a lesson.”

He rose, threw his waistcoat to the ground with a movement of his shoulder, and walked up to the table where the malcontents were. Tall and powerful, his chest thrown out, his shoulders squared for a fight, he stood before them in all the arrogance of his strength, a mocking smile on his lips; and they, on their guard, sat in watchful attitudes, not speaking a word, ready to flee before him.

“Well,” said Artyom, “what are you grumbling about?”

He would have liked to say something very strong, but the words would not come, and he paused.

“Out with it,” said the Ragged Bridegroom, with a grimace and a wave of his hand, “or else you had better leave us in peace and go—I don’t care where, you club of God!”

“Be quiet,” commanded Artyom, frowning. “You are angry and put out because I am the Jew’s friend and chased you away; but I tell you all that the Jew there is a better man than any one of you. He has a feeling of kindness towards his fellow-men which you have not. He has been a martyr from the beginning, and now I take him under my protection; and if one of your lot, it does not matter which, dares to injure him, let him beware. I’m telling you straight, I will beat him, I will torture him.…” His eyes glittered savagely, the veins in his throat swelled, and his nostrils quivered.

“That some of them got the better of me while I was drunk—that I care nothing about. They have not lessened my strength, only made my heart a little harder than it was. But understand, I’ll stand up for Cain, and if anyone insults him with a single word, he will not rise again after the thrashing I shall give him. Tell this to everybody.”