be reduced to nothing more or less than mere fashion. A
preposterous idea, not worth entertaining. If art has no firmer
foundation than that, if it is not eternal, then it is utterly
useless. Take science, for instance. In mathematics do you look
upon Euler, Laplace, or Gauss as fools? Of course not. You accept
their authority. Then why question the authority of Raphael and
Mozart? I must admit, however, that the laws of art are far more
difficult to define than the laws of nature, but they exist just
the same, and he who fails to see them is blind, whether he shuts
his eyes to them purposely or not."

Paklin ceased, but no one uttered a word. They all sat with
tightly closed mouths as if feeling unutterably sorry for him.

"All the same," Ostrodumov remarked, " I am not in the least
sorry for the young people who run after Skoropikin."

"You are hopeless," Paklin thought. "I had better be going."

He went up to Nejdanov, intending to ask his opinion about
smuggling in the magazine, the "Polar Star", from abroad (the "Bell"
had already ceased to exist), but the conversation took such a
turn that it was impossible to raise the question. Paklin had
already taken up his hat, when suddenly, without the slightest
warning, a wonderfully pleasant, manly baritone was heard from
the passage. The very sound of this voice suggested something
gentle, fresh, and well-bred.

"Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?"