eu! Dieu!_"

Words, tone, appearance, moved the son intensely; for never before had
man beheld Michael Gregoriev show such stress of emotion. Never had any
hour so clearly revealed the ravages of mad living and secret
unhappiness.

True, the fierce eyes could flash as of old; the voice would presently
once more ring harsh and servant and equal alike would cringe before
him; for still he held half Moscow in the iron grip of his terrible
omniscience. But Ivan noted the color of his hair--that dead white that
is not the snow of years but the ashen colorlessness borne of continuous
nervous strain. And there was the unexpected stoop of the powerful
shoulders, the occasional unavoidable trembling of the hands, and in
his face, which repeated the livid tone of the hair, were graven lines,
many and deep, born of the repressed disappointment and increasing
loneliness that had insensibly humanized the harsh visage. To the eyes
of the son, looking on his father for the first time in years, there lay
on face and figure, everywhere, the marks of that dread instrument which
no member of the Third Section can put away or destroy: the evidences of
relentless _experience_.

Eye to eye they faced each other, father and son. One minute
passed.--Two.--Three. Never before had Ivan felt himself a thing of
evil. But under those terrible eyes, that had searched hearts as others
searched printed texts for interlinear meanings, he began to feel
himself drawn into the wild waters between a Scylla of shame and a
Charybdis of terror. Alas! Would this man believe his wretched tale of
the trickery of others; of wanton, stubborn stupidity on the part of
himself?

The first, hot wave of mortification had not passed when Prince Michael
suddenly straightened, and lifted his head. His two hands were fast
clinched; but their trembling was still plainly visible. He seemed, for
an instant, about to break into one of his old torrents of abuse; but
suddenly, with an effort, he restrained himself, paused, and then said,
slowly:

"I have been misinformed. I did not know you had entered the
university."

"I have not. I am the second Professor of harmony and orchestration in
the new Conservatoire of Music."

"Then, by God, what are you--" The words were shot out by a furious
impulse, and as suddenly ceased. Again a pause, and Michael began,
quietly: "What have you been arrested for, then? How did you get into
that nest of murderers: the brains and the so