Prince murmured to Razumov, who had never
ventured a single question--

"The house of General T---."

In the middle of the snow-covered roadway blazed a great bonfire.
Some Cossacks, the bridles of their horses over the arm, were warming
themselves around. Two sentries stood at the door, several gendarmes
lounged under the great carriage gateway, and on the first-floor
landing two orderlies rose and stood at attention. Razumov walked at the
Prince's elbow.

A surprising quantity of hot-house plants in pots cumbered the floor of
the ante-room. Servants came forward. A young man in civilian clothes
arrived hurriedly, was whispered to, bowed low, and exclaiming
zealously, "Certainly--this minute," fled within somewhere. The Prince
signed to Razumov.

They passed through a suite of reception-rooms all barely lit and one
of them prepared for dancing. The wife of the General had put off
her party. An atmosphere of consternation pervaded the place. But the
General's own room, with heavy sombre hangings, two massive desks, and
deep armchairs, had all the lights turned on. The footman shut the door
behind them and they waited.

There was a coal fire in an English grate; Razumov had never before seen
such a fire; and the silence of the room was like the silence of the
grave; perfect, measureless, for even the clock on the mantelpiece
made no sound. Filling a corner, on a black pedestal, stood a
quarter-life-size smooth-limbed bronze of an adolescent figure, running.
The Prince observed in an undertone--

"Spontini's. 'Flight of Youth.' Exquisite."

"Admirable," assented Razumov faintly.

They said nothing more after this, the Prince silent with his grand air,
Razumov staring at the statue. He was worried by a sensation resembling
the gnawing of hunger.

He did not turn when he heard an inner door fly open, and a quick
footstep, muffled on the carpet.

The Prince's voice immediately exclaimed, thick with excitement--

"We have got him--_ce miserable_. A worthy young man came to me--No!
It's incredible...."

Razumov held his breath before the bronze as if expecting a crash.
Behind his back a voice he had never heard before insisted politely--

"_Asseyez-vous donc_."

The Prince almost shrieked, "_Mais comprenez-vous, mon cher!
L'assassin_! the murderer--we have got him...."

Razumov spun round. The General's smooth big cheeks rested on the stiff
collar of his uniform. He must have been already looking at Razumo