“But how would he know?”
“They have the right of appealing to him.”
“But it is on my account they are to die,” said that stupid woman, Natalia Ivanovna. “And I forgive them.”
The constable laughed. “Well—send a petition to the Czar.”
“May I do it?”
“Of course you may.”
“But is it not too late?”
“Send it by telegram.”
“To the Czar himself?”
“To the Czar, if you like.”
The story of the hangman having refused to do his duty, and preferring to take the flogging instead, suddenly changed the soul of Natalia Ivanovna. The pity and the horror she felt the moment she heard that the peasants were sentenced to death, could not be stifled now, but filled her whole soul.
“Filip Vassilievich, my friend. Write that telegram for me. I want to appeal to the Czar to pardon them.”
The constable
