in Bazarov. 'No, brother. If you've made up your mind to mow down everything, don't spare your own legs. But we've talked enough metaphysics. "Nature breathes the silence of sleep," said Pushkin.'
'He never said anything of the sort,' protested Arkady.
'Well, if he didn't, as a poet he might have—and ought to have said it. By the way, he must have been a military man.'
'Pushkin never was a military man!'
'Why, on every page of him there's, "To arms! to arms! for Russia's honour!"'
'Why, what stories you invent! I declare, it's positive calumny.'
'Calumny? That's a mighty matter! What a word he's found to frighten me with! Whatever charge you make against a man, you may be certain he deserves twenty times worse than that in reality.'
'We had better go to sleep,' said Arkady, in a tone of vexation.
'With the greatest pleasure,' answered Bazarov. But neither of them slept. A feeling almost of hostility had come over both the young men. Five minutes later, they opened their eyes and glanced at one another in silence.
'Look,' said Arkady suddenly, 'a dry maple
