“Not at all. Extremely natural. You saw the importance. …”
“Yes,” broke in the Prince. “And I venture to ask insistently that mine and Mr. Razumov’s intervention should not become public. He is a young man of promise—of remarkable aptitudes.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” murmured the General. “He inspires confidence.”
“All sorts of pernicious views are so widespread nowadays—they taint such unexpected quarters—that, monstrous as it seems, he might suffer … his studies … his …”
The General, with his elbows on the desk, took his head between his hands.
“Yes. Yes. I am thinking it out. … How long is it since you left him at your rooms, Mr. Razumov?”
Razumov mentioned the hour which nearly corresponded with the time of his distracted flight from the big slum house. He had made up his mind to keep Ziemianitch out of the affair completely. To mention him at all would mean imprisonment for the “bright soul,” perhaps cruel floggings, and in the end a journey to Siberia in chains. Razumov, who had beaten Ziemianitch, felt for him now a vague, remorseful tenderness.
The General, giving way for the first time to his secret sentiments, exclaimed contemptuously—
“And you say he came in to make you this confidence like this—for nothing—a propos des bottes.”
Razumov felt danger in the air. The merciless suspicion of despotism had spoken openly at last. Sudden fear sealed Razumov’s lips. The silence of the room resembled now the silence of a deep dungeon, where time does not count, and a suspect person is sometimes forgotten for ever. But the Prince came to the rescue.
“Providence itself has led the wretch in a moment of mental aberration to seek Mr. Razumov on the strength of some old, utterly misinterpreted exchange of ideas—some sort of idle speculative conversation—months ago—I am told—and completely forgotten till now by Mr. Razumov.”
“Mr. Razumov,” queried the General meditatively, after a short silence, “do you often indulge in speculative conversation?”
“No, Excellency,” answered Razumov, coolly, in a sudden access of self-confidence. “I am a man of deep convictions. Crude opinions are in the air. They are not always worth combating. But even the silent contempt of a serious mind may be misinterpreted by headlong utopists.”
The General stared from between his hands. Prince K— murmured—
“A serious young man. Un esprit superieur.”
“I see that, mon cher Prince,” said the General. “Mr. Razumov is quite safe with me. I am interested in him. He has, it seems, the great and useful quality of inspiring confidence. What I was wondering at is why the other should mention anything at all—I mean even the bare fact alone—if his object was only to obtain temporary shelter for a few hours. For, after all, nothing was easier than to say nothing about it unless, indeed, he were trying, under a crazy misapprehension of your true sentiments, to enlist your assistance—eh, Mr. Razumov?”
It seemed to Razumov that the floor was moving slightly. This grotesque man in a tight uniform was terrible. It was right that he should be terrible.
“I can see what your Excellency has in your mind. But I can only answer that I don’t know why.”
“I have nothing in my mind,” murmured the General, with gentle surprise.
“I am his prey—his helpless prey,” thought Razumov. The fatigues and the disgusts of that afternoon, the need to forget, the fear which he could not keep off, reawakened his hate for Haldin.
“Then I can’t help your Excellency. I don’t know what he meant. I only know there was a moment when I wished to kill him. There was also a moment when I wished myself dead. I said nothing. I was overcome. I provoked no confidence—I asked for no explanations—”
Razumov seemed beside himself; but his mind was lucid. It was really a calculated outburst.
“It is rather a pity,” the General said, “that you did not. Don’t you know at all what he means to do?” Razumov calmed down and saw an opening there.
“He told me he was in hopes that a sledge would meet him about half an hour after midnight at the seventh lamp-post on the left from the upper end of Karabelnaya. At any rate, he meant to be there at that time. He did not even ask me for a change of clothes.”
“Ah voila!” said the General, turning to Prince K with an air of satisfaction. “There is a way to keep your protege, Mr. Razumov, quite clear of any connexion with the actual arrest. We shall be ready for that gentleman in Karabelnaya.”
The Prince expressed his gratitude. There was real emotion in his voice. Razumov, motionless, silent, sat staring at the carpet. The General turned to him.
“Half an hour after midnight. Till then we have to depend on you, Mr. Razumov. You don’t think he is likely to change his purpose?”
“How can I tell?” said Razumov. “Those men are not of the sort that ever changes its purpose.”
“What men do you mean?”
“Fanatical lovers of liberty in general. Liberty with a capital L, Excellency. Liberty that means nothing precise. Liberty in whose name crimes are committed.”
The General murmured—
“I detest rebels of every kind. I can’t help it. It’s my nature!”
He clenched a fist and shook it, drawing back his arm. “They shall be destroyed, then.”
“They have made a sacrifice of their lives beforehand,” said Razumov with malicious pleasure and looking the General straight in the face. “If Haldin does change his purpose to-night, you may depend on it that it will not be to save his life by flight in some other way. He would have thought then of something else to attempt. But that is not likely.”
The General repeated as if to himself, “They shall be destroyed.”
Razumov assumed an impenetrable expression.
The Prince exclaimed—
“What a terrible necessity!”
The General’s arm was lowered slowly.
“One comfort there is. That brood leaves no posterity. I’ve always said it, one effort, pitiless, persistent, steady—and we are done with them for ever.”
Razumov thought to himself that this man entrusted with so much arbitrary power must have believed what he said or else he could not have gone on bearing the responsibility.
“I detest rebels. These subversive minds! These intellectual debauches! My existence has been built on fidelity. It’s a feeling. To defend it I am ready to lay down my life—and even my honour—if that were needed. But pray tell me what honour can there be as against rebels—against people that deny God Himself—perfect unbelievers! Brutes. It is horrible to think of.”
During this tirade Razumov, facing the General, had nodded slightly twice. Prince K—, standing on one side with his grand air, murmured, casting up his eyes—
“Helas!”
Then lowering his glance and with great decision declared—
“This young man, General, is perfectly fit to apprehend the bearing of your memorable words.”
The General’s whole expression changed from dull resentment to perfect urbanity.
“I would ask now, Mr. Razumov,” he said, “to return to his home. Note that I don’t ask Mr. Razumov whether he has justified his absence to his guest. No doubt he did this sufficiently. But I don’t ask. Mr. Razumov inspires confidence. It is a great gift. I only suggest that a more prolonged absence might awaken the criminal’s suspicions