thout her! Cosmopolitanism is all twaddle, the
cosmopolitan is a nonentity--worse than a nonentity; without nationality
is no art, nor truth, nor life, nor anything. You cannot even have an
ideal face without individual expression; only a vulgar face can be
devoid of it. But I say again, that is not Rudin's fault; it is his
fate--a cruel and unhappy fate--for which we cannot blame him. It would
take us too far if we tried to trace why Rudins spring up among us. But
for what is fine in him, let us be grateful to him. That is pleasanter
than being unfair to him, and we have been unfair to him. It's not our
business to punish him, and it's not needed; he has punished himself far
more cruelly than he deserved. And God grant that unhappiness may have
blotted out all the harm there was in him, and left only what was fine!
I drink to the health of Rudin! I drink to the comrade of my best years,
I drink to youth, to its hopes, its endeavours, its faith, and its
honesty, to all that our hearts beat for at twenty; we have known, and
shall know, nothing better than that in life.... I drink to that golden
time--to the health of Rudin!'

All clinked glasses with Lezhnyov. Bassistoff, in his enthusiasm, almost
cracked his glass and drained it off at a draught. Alexandra Pavlovna
pressed Lezhnyov's hand.

'Why, Mihailo Mihailitch, I did not suspect you were an orator,'
remarked Pigasov; 'it was equal to Mr. Rudin himself; even I was moved
by it.'

'I am not at all an orator,' replied Lezhnyov, not without annoyance,
'but to move you, I fancy, would be difficult. But enough of Rudin; let
us talk of something else. What of--what's his name--Pandalevsky? is
he still living at Darya Mihailovna's?' he concluded, turning to
Bassistoff.

'Oh yes, he is still there. She has managed to get him a very profitable
place.'

Lezhnyov smiled.

'That's a man who won't die in want, one can count upon that.'

Supper was over. The guests dispersed. When she was left alone with her
husband, Alexandra Pavlovna looked smiling into his face.

'How splendid you were this evening, Misha,' she said, stroking
his forehead, 'how cleverly and nobly you spoke! But confess, you
exaggerated a little in Rudin's praise, as in old days you did in
attacking him.'

'I can't let them hit a man when he's down. And in those days I was
afraid he was turning your head.'

'No,' replied Alexandra Pavlovna naively, 'he always seemed too learned
for me. I was afraid