ow.... 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