Russia, factory workers are not what they are abroad─they're the meekest set of people.
'And the peasants?' inquired Markelov.
'The peasants? There are pretty many of the close-fisted, money-lending sort among them now, and every year there'll be more; but they only know their own interest; the rest are sheep, blind and ignorant.'
'Then where are we to look?'
Solomin smiled.
'Seek and ye shall find.'
He was almost constantly smiling, and the smile, like the man himself, was peculiarly guileless, but not meaningless. To Nezhdanov he behaved in quite a special way; the young student had awakened a feeling of interest, almost of tenderness, in him.
During this same midnight discussion, Nezhdanov suddenly got flushed and hot, and broke into an outburst; Solomin softly got up, and, moving across the room with his large tread, he closed a window that stood open behind Nezhdanov's head. . . .
`You mustn't get cold,' he remarked naively in reply to the orator's puzzled look.
Nezhdanov began questioning him as to what socialistic ideas he was trying to introduce into the factory in his charge, and whether he
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