hurricane of passion might subside a little, to gain time for another impulse to get the upper hand.
The Mob Disciplined
by the Revolution.
For while this was a mob, it was a revolutionary mob. Deeprooted in the hearts of at least half this workman-soldier crowd was one powerful abiding loyalty—the Revolution. The word was a fetich. Their dreams and hopes and longings were all woven around "The Revolution." They were its servants. It was their master.
True, at this moment another master held them, displacing every idea of the Revolution. Revenge was in the saddle, recklessly lashing the mob along. But this was temporary. The permanent allegiance of their lives was to the Revolution. Given the chance it would rise up, expel the usurper, assert its authority, and again control its followers. Antonov did not stand alone against a multitude. In that mob, there were a thousand Antonovs, sharing with him the same high zeal for the Revolution. Antonov was just one unit of that mob, flesh of its flesh, spirit of its spirit, sharing its antagonism to the Yunkers and officers, aflame with its same hot passions.
Antonov happened to be first of this mob to rein in his passions, the first in whose consciousness the Revolution replaced revenge. The change made in his heart by concept of the Revolution would likewise be wrought in the hearts of the soldiers and
