osed that Razumov had actually dozed off
and had dreamed in the presence of Councillor Mikulin, of an old print
of the Inquisition. He was indeed extremely exhausted, and he records
a remarkably dream-like experience of anguish at the circumstance
that there was no one whatever near the pale and extended figure. The
solitude of the racked victim was particularly horrible to behold. The
mysterious impossibility to see the face, he also notes, inspired a sort
of terror. All these characteristics of an ugly dream were present. Yet
he is certain that he never lost the consciousness of himself on the
sofa, leaning forward with his hands between his knees and turning his
cap round and round in his fingers. But everything vanished at the voice
of Councillor Mikulin. Razumov felt profoundly grateful for the even
simplicity of its tone.

"Yes. I have listened with interest. I comprehend in a measure your...
But, indeed, you are mistaken in what you...." Councillor Mikulin
uttered a series of broken sentences. Instead of finishing them he
glanced down his beard. It was a deliberate curtailment which somehow
made the phrases more impressive. But he could talk fluently enough, as
became apparent when changing his tone to persuasiveness he went on: "By
listening to you as I did, I think I have proved that I do not regard
our intercourse as strictly official. In fact, I don't want it to have
that character at all.... Oh yes! I admit that the request for your
presence here had an official form. But I put it to you whether it was a
form which would have been used to secure the attendance of a...."

"Suspect," exclaimed Razumov, looking straight into the official's
eyes. They were big with heavy eyelids, and met his boldness with a dim,
steadfast gaze. "A suspect." The open repetition of that word which
had been haunting all his waking hours gave Razumov a strange sort of
satisfaction. Councillor Mikulin shook his head slightly. "Surely you do
know that I've had my rooms searched by the police?"

"I was about to say a 'misunderstood person,' when you interrupted me,"
insinuated quietly Councillor Mikulin.

Razumov smiled without bitterness. The renewed sense of his intellectual
superiority sustained him in the hour of danger. He said a little
disdainfully--

"I know I am but a reed. But I beg you to allow me the superiority of
the thinking reed over the unthinking forces that are about to crush
him out of existence. Practical think