cannot, you must not. I have been young, too--but
perhaps you think that I am complaining-eh?"

"I don't think anything of the sort," protested Razumov indifferently.

"I dare say you don't, you dear superior creature. You don't care."

She plunged her fingers into the bunch of hair on the left side,
and that brusque movement had the effect of setting the Tyrolese hat
straight on her head. She frowned under it without animosity, in the
manner of an investigator. Razumov averted his face carelessly.

"You men are all alike. You mistake luck for merit. You do it in good
faith too! I would not be too hard on you. It's masculine nature.
You men are ridiculously pitiful in your aptitude to cherish childish
illusions down to the very grave. There are a lot of us who have been at
work for fifteen years--I mean constantly--trying one way after another,
underground and above ground, looking neither to the right nor to the
left! I can talk about it. I have been one of these that never
rested.... There! What's the use of talking.... Look at my grey hairs!
And here two babies come along--I mean you and Haldin--you come along
and manage to strike a blow at the very first try."

At the name of Haldin falling from the rapid and energetic lips of the
woman revolutionist, Razumov had the usual brusque consciousness of the
irrevocable. But in all the months which had passed over his head he
had become hardened to the experience. The consciousness was no longer
accompanied by the blank dismay and the blind anger of the early days.
He had argued himself into new beliefs; and he had made for himself a
mental atmosphere of gloomy and sardonic reverie, a sort of murky
medium through which the event appeared like a featureless shadow having
vaguely the shape of a man; a shape extremely familiar, yet utterly
inexpressive, except for its air of discreet waiting in the dusk. It was
not alarming.

"What was he like?" the woman revolutionist asked unexpectedly.

"What was he like?" echoed Razumov, making a painful effort not to turn
upon her savagely. But he relieved himself by laughing a little while he
stole a glance at her out of the corners of his eyes. This reception of
her inquiry disturbed her.

"How like a woman," he went on. "What is the good of concerning yourself
with his appearance? Whatever it was, he is removed beyond all feminine
influences now."

A frown, making three folds at the root of her nose, accentuated the
Mephisto