od trim to tackle the prize essay. But as Haldin could not be
slightingly dismissed Razumov adopted the tone of hospitality, asking
him to sit down and smoke.

"Kirylo Sidorovitch," said the other, flinging off his cap, "we are not
perhaps in exactly the same camp. Your judgment is more philosophical.
You are a man of few words, but I haven't met anybody who dared to
doubt the generosity of your sentiments. There is a solidity about your
character which cannot exist without courage."

Razumov felt flattered and began to murmur shyly something about being
very glad of his good opinion, when Haldin raised his hand.

"That is what I was saying to myself," he continued, "as I dodged in the
woodyard down by the river-side. 'He has a strong character this young
man,' I said to myself. 'He does not throw his soul to the winds.' Your
reserve has always fascinated me, Kirylo Sidorovitch. So I tried to
remember your address. But look here--it was a piece of luck. Your
dvornik was away from the gate talking to a sleigh-driver on the other
side of the street. I met no one on the stairs, not a soul. As I came up
to your floor I caught sight of your landlady coming out of your rooms.
But she did not see me. She crossed the landing to her own side, and
then I slipped in. I have been here two hours expecting you to come in
every moment."

Razumov had listened in astonishment; but before he could open his mouth
Haldin added, speaking deliberately, "It was I who removed de P--- this
morning." Razumov kept down a cry of dismay. The sentiment of his life
being utterly ruined by this contact with such a crime expressed itself
quaintly by a sort of half-derisive mental exclamation, "There goes my
silver medal!"

Haldin continued after waiting a while--

"You say nothing, Kirylo Sidorovitch! I understand your silence. To be
sure, I cannot expect you with your frigid English manner to embrace
me. But never mind your manners. You have enough heart to have heard the
sound of weeping and gnashing of teeth this man raised in the land. That
would be enough to get over any philosophical hopes. He was uprooting
the tender plant. He had to be stopped. He was a dangerous man--a
convinced man. Three more years of his work would have put us back fifty
years into bondage--and look at all the lives wasted, at all the souls
lost in that time."

His curt, self-confident voice suddenly lost its ring and it was in a
dull tone that he added, "Yes, broth