. They had not seen each other since the Moscow days.
There was a shower of exclamations, of questions; long-smothered memories
came forth into the light of day. Hurriedly smoking pipe after pipe,
drinking down tea in gulps, and flourishing his long arms, Mikhalevitch
narrated his adventures to Lavretzky; there was nothing very cheerful
about them, he could not boast of success in his enterprises,--but he
laughed incessantly, with a hoarse, nervous laugh. A month previously, he
had obtained a situation in the private counting-house of a wealthy
distiller, about three hundred versts from the town of O * * *, and,
on learning of Lavretzky's return from abroad, he had turned aside from
his road, in order to see his old friend. Mikhalevitch talked as
abruptly as in his younger days, was as noisy and effervescent as ever.
Lavretzky was about to allude to his circumstances, but Mikhalevitch
interrupted him, hastily muttering: "I've heard, brother, I've heard
about it,--who could have anticipated it?"--and immediately turned the
conversation into the region of general comments.

"I, brother,"--he said:--"must leave thee to-morrow; to-day, thou must
excuse me--we will go to bed late--I positively must find out what are
thy opinions, convictions, what sort of a person thou hast become, what
life has taught thee." (Mikhalevitch still retained the phraseology of
the '30s.) "So far as I myself am concerned, I have changed in many
respects, brother: the billows of life have fallen upon my breast,--who
the dickens was it that said that?--although, in important, essential
points, I have not changed; I believe, as of yore, in the good, in the
truth; but I not only believe,--I am now a believer, yes--I am a
believer, a religious believer. Hearken, thou knowest that I write
verses; there is no poetry in them, but there is truth. I will recite to
thee my last piece: in it I have given expression to my most sincere
convictions. Listen."--Mikhalevitch began to recite a poem; it was
rather long, and wound up with the following lines:

"To new feeling I have surrendered myself with all my heart,
I have become like a child in soul:
And I have burned all that I worshipped.
I have worshipped all that I burned."

As he declaimed these last two lines, Mikhalevitch was on the verge of
tears; slight convulsive twitchings, the signs of deep feeling--flitted
across his broad lips, his ugly face lighted up. Lavretzky listened