He went back to his thoughts, but with one further fact to reckon with—­that he was caught here.  The hall was now filled to the doors; and after the meeting it would be too late for him to go home, so he would have to make the best of it outside.  Perhaps it would be better to go home in the morning, anyway, for the children would be at school, and he and Elzbieta could have a quiet explanation.  She always had been a reasonable person; and he really did mean to do right.  He would manage to persuade her of it—­and besides, Marija was willing, and Marija was furnishing the money.  If Elzbieta were ugly, he would tell her that in so many words.

So Jurgis went on meditating; until finally, when he had been an hour or two in the hall, there began to prepare itself a repetition of the dismal catastrophe of the night before.  Speaking had been going on all the time, and the audience was clapping its hands and shouting, thrilling with excitement; and little by little the sounds were beginning to blur in Jurgis’s ears, and his thoughts were beginning to run together, and his head to wobble and nod.  He caught himself many times, as usual, and made desperate resolutions; but the hall was hot and close, and his long walk and is dinner were too much for him—­in the end his head sank forward and he went off again.

And then again someone nudged him, and he sat up with his old terrified start!  He had been snoring again, of course!  And now what?  He fixed his eyes ahead of him, with painful intensity, staring at the platform as if nothing else ever had interested him, or ever could interest him, all his life.  He imagined the angry exclamations, the hostile glances; he imagined the policeman striding toward him—­reaching for his neck.  Or was he to have one more chance?  Were they going to let him alone this time?  He sat trembling; waiting—­

And then suddenly came a voice in his ear, a woman’s voice, gentle and sweet, “If you would try to listen, comrade, perhaps you would be interested.”

Jurgis was more startled by that than he would have been by the touch of a policeman.  He still kept his eyes fixed ahead, and did not stir; but his heart gave a great leap.  Comrade!  Who was it that called him “comrade”?

He waited long, long; and at last, when he was sure that he was no longer watched, he stole a glance out of the corner of his eyes at the woman who sat beside him.  She was young and beautiful; she wore fine clothes, and was what is called a “lady.”  And she called him “comrade”!

He turned a little, carefully, so that he could see her better; then he began to watch her, fascinated.  She had apparently forgotten all about him, and was looking toward the platform.  A man was speaking there—­Jurgis heard his voice vaguely; but all his thoughts were for this woman’s face.  A feeling of alarm stole over him as he stared at her.  It made his flesh creep.  What was the matter with her, what could be going on, to affect