ushed, and hearts beating, while we talked of
God, and truth, of the future of humanity, and poetry ... often what
we said was absurd, and we were in ecstasies over nonsense; but what of
that?... Pokorsky sat with crossed legs, his pale cheek on his hand, and
his eyes seemed to shed light. Rudin stood in the middle of the room and
spoke, spoke splendidly, for all the world like the young Demosthenes
by the resounding sea; our poet, Subotin of the dishevelled locks, would
now and then throw out some abrupt exclamation as though in his sleep,
while Scheller, a student forty years old, the son of a German pastor,
who had the reputation among us of a profound thinker, thanks to his
eternal, inviolable silence, held his peace with more rapt solemnity
than usual; even the lively Shtchitof, the Aristophanes of our reunions,
was subdued and did no more than smile, while two or three novices
listened with reverent transports.... And the night seemed to fly by on
wings. It was already the grey morning when we separated, moved, happy,
aspiring and sober (there was no question of wine among us at such
times) with a kind of sweet weariness in our souls... and one even
looked up at the stars with a kind of confidence, as though they had
become nearer and more comprehensible. Ah! that was a glorious time, and
I can't bear to believe that it was altogether wasted! And it was not
wasted--not even for those whose lives were sordid afterwards. How often
have I chanced to come across such old college friends! You would think
the man had sunk altogether to the brute, but one had only to utter
Pokorsky's name before him and every trace of noble feeling in him was
stirred at once; it was like uncorking a forgotten phial of fragrance in
some dark and dirty room.'

Lezhnyov stopped; his colourless face was flushed.

'And what was the cause of your quarrel with Rudin?' said Alexandra
Pavlovna, looking wonderingly at Lezhnyov.

'I did not quarrel with him, but I parted from him when I came to know
him thoroughly abroad. But I might well have quarrelled with him in
Moscow, he did me a bad turn there.'

'What was that?'

'It was like this. I--how can I tell you?--it does not accord very well
with my appearance, but I was always much given to falling in love.'

'You?'

'Yes, I was indeed. That's a curious idea, isn't it? But, anyway, it
was so. Well, so I fell in love in those days with a very pretty young
girl.... But why do you look at me