he simplest thing?"

"That's all supposition," said Samoylenko, sitting down.

"Supposition? But why is he going alone instead of taking her with
him? And ask him why he doesn't send her off first. The sly beast!"

Overcome with sudden doubts and suspicions about his friend,
Samoylenko weakened and took a humbler tone.

"But it's impossible," he said, recalling the night Laevsky had
spent at his house. "He is so unhappy!"

"What of that? Thieves and incendiaries are unhappy too!"

"Even supposing you are right . . ." said Samoylenko, hesitating.
"Let us admit it. . . . Still, he's a young man in a strange place
. . . a student. We have been students, too, and there is no one
but us to come to his assistance."

"To help him to do abominable things, because he and you at different
times have been at universities, and neither of you did anything
there! What nonsense!"

"Stop; let us talk it over coolly. I imagine it will be possible
to make some arrangement. . . ." Samoylenko reflected, twiddling
his fingers. "I'll give him the money, you see, but make him promise
on his honour that within a week he'll send Nadyezhda Fyodorovna
the money for the journey."

"And he'll give you his word of honour--in fact, he'll shed tears
and believe in it himself; but what's his word of honour worth? He
won't keep it, and when in a year or two you meet him on the Nevsky
Prospect with a new mistress on his arm, he'll excuse himself on
the ground that he has been crippled by civilisation, and that he
is made after the pattern of Rudin. Drop him, for God's sake! Keep
away from the filth; don't stir it up with both hands!"

Samoylenko thought for a minute and said resolutely:

"But I shall give him the money all the same. As you please. I can't
bring myself to refuse a man simply on an assumption."

"Very fine, too. You can kiss him if you like."

"Give me the hundred roubles, then," Samoylenko asked timidly.

"I won't."

A silence followed. Samoylenko was quite crushed; his face wore a
guilty, abashed, and ingratiating expression, and it was strange
to see this pitiful, childish, shamefaced countenance on a huge man
wearing epaulettes and orders of merit.

"The bishop here goes the round of his diocese on horseback instead
of in a carriage," said the deacon, laying down his pen. "It's
extremely touching to see him sit on his horse. His simplicity and
humility are full of Biblical grandeur."

"Is he a good man?" asked Von