usurers I know… No, of course, you can’t! Don’t look at me like that. What shall I do? No use asking the old man. I tell you he’s given me a fistful of big notes three days ago. Miserable wretch that I am.”
He wrung his hands in despair. Impossible to confide in the old man. “They” had given him a decoration, a cross on the neck only last year, and he had been cursing the modern tendencies ever since. Just then he would see all the intellectuals in Russia hanged in a row rather than part with a single rouble.
“Kirylo Sidorovitch, wait a moment. Don’t despise me. I have it. I’ll, yes—I’ll do it—I’ll break into his desk. There’s no help for it. I know the drawer where he keeps his plunder, and I can buy a chisel on my way home. He will be terribly upset, but, you know, the dear old duffer really loves me. He’ll have to get over it—and I, too. Kirylo, my dear soul, if you can only wait for a few hours— till this evening—I shall steal all the blessed lot I can lay my hands on! You doubt me! Why? You’ve only to say the word.”
“Steal, by all means,” said Razumov, fixing him stonily.
“To the devil with the ten commandments!” cried the other, with the greatest animation. “It’s the new future now.”
But when he entered Razumov’s room late in the evening it was with an unaccustomed soberness of manner, almost solemnly.
“It’s done,” he said.
Razumov sitting bowed, his clasped hands hanging between his knees, shuddered at the familiar sound of these words. Kostia deposited slowly in the circle of lamplight a small brown-paper parcel tied with a piece of string.
“As I’ve said—all I could lay my hands on. The old boy’ll think the end of the world has come.”
Razumov nodded from the couch, and contemplated the hare-brained fellow’s gravity with a feeling of malicious pleasure.
“I’ve made my little sacrifice,” sighed mad Kostia. “And I’ve to thank you, Kirylo Sidorovitch, for the opportunity.”
“It has cost you something?”
“Yes, it has. You see, the dear old duffer really loves me. He’ll be hurt.”
“And you believe all they tell you of the new future and the sacred will of the people?”
“Implicitly. I would give my life… Only, you see, I am like a pig at a trough. I am no good. It’s my nature.”
Razumov, lost in thought, had forgotten his existence till the youth’s voice, entreating him to fly without loss of time, roused him unpleasantly.
“All right. Well—good-bye.”
“I am not going to leave you till I’ve seen you out of St. Petersburg,” declared Kostia unexpectedly, with calm determination. “You can’t refuse me that now. For God’s sake, Kirylo, my soul, the police may be here any moment, and when they get you they’ll immure you somewhere for ages—till your hair turns grey. I have down there the best trotter of dad’s stables and a light sledge. We shall do thirty miles before the moon sets, and find some roadside station…”
Razumov looked up amazed. The journey was decided—unavoidable. He had fixed the next day for his departure on the mission. And now he discovered suddenly that he had not believed in it. He had gone about listening, speaking, thinking, planning his simulated flight, with the growing conviction that all this