"Is it perhaps because I don't seem to accept blindly every development
of the general doctrine--such for instance as the feminism of our great
Peter Ivanovitch? If that is what makes me suspect, then I can only say
I would scorn to be a slave even to an idea."

She had been looking at him all the time, not as a listener looks
at one, but as if the words he chose to say were only of secondary
interest. When he finished she slipped her hand, by a sudden and decided
movement, under his arm and impelled him gently towards the gate of the
grounds. He felt her firmness and obeyed the impulsion at once, just as
the other two men had, a moment before, obeyed unquestioningly the wave
of her hand.

They made a few steps like this.

"No, Razumov, your ideas are probably all right," she said. "You may be
valuable--very valuable. What's the matter with you is that you don't
like us."

She released him. He met her with a frosty smile.

"Am I expected then to have love as well as convictions?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"You know very well what I mean. People have been thinking you not quite
whole-hearted. I have heard that opinion from one side and another. But
I have understood you at the end of the first day...."

Razumov interrupted her, speaking steadily.

"I assure you that your perspicacity is at fault here."

"What phrases he uses!" she exclaimed parenthetically. "Ah! Kirylo
Sidorovitch, you like other men are fastidious, full of self-love and
afraid of trifles. Moreover, you had no training. What you want is to
be taken in hand by some woman. I am sorry I am not staying here a few
days. I am going back to Zurich to-morrow, and shall take Yakovlitch
with me most likely."

This information relieved Razumov.

"I am sorry too," he said. "But, all the same, I don't think you
understand me."

He breathed more freely; she did not protest, but asked, "And how did
you get on with Peter Ivanovitch? You have seen a good deal of each
other. How is it between you two?"

Not knowing what answer to make, the young man inclined his head slowly.

Her lips had been parted in expectation. She pressed them together, and
seemed to reflect.

"That's all right."

This had a sound of finality, but she did not leave him. It was
impossible to guess what she had in her mind. Razumov muttered--

"It is not of me that you should have asked that question. In a moment
you shall see Peter Ivanovitch himself, and the subject will