acter he
knew well, a man idealistic and foolish and romantic, like yourself,
Ivan Andreievitch, only caring more for ideas, more impulsive and more
reckless. He found this man and made him his friend. He played with him
as a cat does with a mouse. He enjoyed life for about a year and then he
was murdered...."

"Murdered!" I exclaimed.

"Yes--shot by his idealistic friend. I envy him that year. He must have
experienced many breathless sensations. When the murderer was tried his
only explanation was that he had been irritated and disappointed.

"'Disappointed of what?' asked the judge.

"'Of everything in which he believed....' said the man.

"It seemed a poor excuse for a murder; he is still, I have no doubt, in
Siberia.

"But I envy my friend. That was a delightful death to die....
Good-night, Ivan Andreievitch."

He waved his hand at me and was gone. I was quite alone in the long
black street, engulfed by the high, overhanging flats.

XXI

Late on the afternoon of Nina's birthday, when I was on the point of
setting out for the English Prospect, the Rat appeared. I had not seen
him for several weeks; but there he was, stepping suddenly out of the
shadows of my room, dirty and disreputable and cheerful. He had been, I
perceived, drinking furniture polish.

"Good-evening, Barin."

"Good-evening," I said sternly. "I told you not to come here when you
were drunk."

"I'm not drunk," he said, offended, "only a little. It's not much that
you can get these days. I want some money, Barin."

"I've none for you," I answered.

"It's only a little--God knows that I wouldn't ask you for much, but I'm
going to be very busy these next days, and it's work that won't bring
pay quickly. There'll be pay later, and then I will return it to you."

"There's nothing for you to-night," I said.

He laughed. "You're a fine man, Barin. A foreigner is fine--that's
where the poor Russian is unhappy. I love you, Barin, and I will look
after you, and if, as you say, there isn't any money here, one must
pray to God and he will show one the way."

"What's this work you're going to do?" I asked him.

"There's going to be trouble the other side of the river in a day or
two," he answered, "and I'm going to help."

"Help what?" I asked.

"Help the trouble," he answered, smiling.

"Behave like a blackguard, in fact."

"Ah, blackguard, Barin!" he protested, using a Russian word that is
worse than blackguard. "Why these names