thought suddenly of his stomach, all
round and white and shining. It was an irresistible temptation to plunge
a knife into it. I was awake for hours thinking of it. Every man has
such hours.... At the same time Alexei can be very kind."

"How do you mean--kind?" I asked.

"For instance he has some very good wine--fifty bottles at least--he has
given it all to us. Then he insists on paying us for his food. He is a
generous-spirited man. Money is nothing to us--"

"Don't you drink his wine," I said.

Nicholas was instantly offended.

"What do you mean, Ivan Andreievitch? Not drink his wine? Am I an
infant? Can I not look after myself?--_Blagadaryoo Vas_.... I am more
than ten years old." He took his hand away from my arm.

"No, I didn't mean that at all," I assured him. "Of course not--only you
told me not long ago that you had given up wine altogether. That's why I
said what I did."

"So I have! So I have!" he eagerly assured me. "But Easter's a time for
rejoicing... Rejoicing!"--his voice rose suddenly shrill and
scornful--"rejoicing with the world in the state that it is. Truly, Ivan
Andreievitch, I don't wonder at Alexei's cynicism. I don't indeed. The
world is a sad spectacle for an observant man." He suddenly put his hand
through my arm, so close to me now that I could feel his beating heart.
"But you believe, don't you, Ivan Andreievitch, that Russia now has
found herself?" His voice became desperately urgent and beseeching. "You
must believe that. You don't agree with those fools who don't believe
that she will make the best of all this? Fools? Scoundrels! Scoundrels!
That's what they are. I must believe in Russia now or I shall die. And
so with all of us. If she does not rise now as one great country and
lead the world, she will never do so. Our hearts must break. But she
will... she will! No one who is watching events can doubt it. Only
cynics like Alexei doubt--he doubts everything. And he cannot leave
anything alone. He must smear everything with his dirty finger. But he
must leave Russia alone... I tell him...."

He broke off. "If Russia fails now," he spoke very quietly, "my life is
over. I have nothing left. I will die."

"Come, Nicolai Leontievitch," I said, "you mustn't let yourself go like
that. Life isn't over because one is disappointed in one's country. And
even though one is disappointed one does not love the less. What's
friendship worth if every disappointment chills one's affection? One