of the end...."

"You are eloquent, Sophia Antonovna," Razumov interrupted suddenly.
"Only, so far you seem to have been writing it in water...."

She was checked but not offended. "Who knows? Very soon it may become
a fact written all over that great land of ours," she hinted meaningly.
"And then one would have lived long enough. White hair won't matter."

Razumov looked at her white hair: and this mark of so many uneasy years
seemed nothing but a testimony to the invincible vigour of revolt. It
threw out into an astonishing relief the unwrinkled face, the
brilliant black glance, the upright compact figure, the simple,
brisk self-possession of the mature personality--as though in her
revolutionary pilgrimage she had discovered the secret, not of
everlasting youth, but of everlasting endurance.

How un-Russian she looked, thought Razumov. Her mother might have been
a Jewess or an Armenian or devil knew what. He reflected that a
revolutionist is seldom true to the settled type. All revolt is the
expression of strong individualism--ran his thought vaguely. One
can tell them a mile off in any society, in any surroundings. It was
astonishing that the police....

"We shall not meet again very soon, I think," she was saying. "I am
leaving to-morrow."

"For Zurich?" Razumov asked casually, but feeling relieved, not from
any distinct apprehension, but from a feeling of stress as if after a
wrestling match.

"Yes, Zurich--and farther on, perhaps, much farther. Another journey.
When I think of all my journeys! The last must come some day. Never
mind, Razumov. We had to have a good long talk. I would have certainly
tried to see you if we had not met. Peter Ivanovitch knows where you
live? Yes. I meant to have asked him--but it's better like this. You
see, we expect two more men; and I had much rather wait here talking
with you than up there at the house with...."

Having cast a glance beyond the gate, she interrupted herself. "Here
they are," she said rapidly. "Well, Kirylo Sidorovitch, we shall have to
say good-bye, presently."

IV

In his incertitude of the ground on which he stood Razumov felt
perturbed. Turning his head quickly, he saw two men on the opposite side
of the road. Seeing themselves noticed by Sophia Antonovna, they crossed
over at once, and passed one after another through the little gate
by the side of the empty lodge. They looked hard at the stranger, but
without mistrust, the crimson blouse be