"Not an infinite amount, but certainly enough to go round--and plenty
for every one," was Stchemilov's calm reply.

"Ten--or, say, a hundred--acres per soul? Is that what you mean?"
continued Piotr in loud derision. "You've got that idea into the heads
of the muzhiks, and now they're in revolt."

Stchemilov again whistled, and said with contemptuous calm:

"Fiddlesticks! The muzhik is not as stupid as all that. And in any
case, let me ask you what hindered the opposing side from hammering
the right ideas into the muzhik's mind?"

Piotr got up angrily and strode away without saying another word.
Rameyev looked quietly after him and said to Stchemilov:

"Piotr loves culture, or, more properly speaking, civilization, too
well to appreciate freedom. You insist too strongly on your class
interests, and therefore freedom is no such great lure to you. But we
Russian constitutionalists are carrying on the struggle for freedom
almost alone."

Stchemilov listened to him and made an effort to suppress an ironic
smile.

"It's true," he said, "we won't join hands with you. You wish to fly
about in the free air; while we are still ravenously hungry and want
to eat."