know who that was?" he asked suddenly.

Razumov, whose heart was thumping hard yet, shook his head in silence.

"That was Prince K---. You wonder what he could be doing in the hole of
a poor legal rat like myself--eh? These awfully great people have their
sentimental curiosities like common sinners. But if I were you, Kirylo
Sidorovitch," he continued, leering and laying a peculiar emphasis on
the patronymic, "I wouldn't boast at large of the introduction. It would
not be prudent, Kirylo Sidorovitch. Oh dear no! It would be in fact
dangerous for your future."

The young man's ears burned like fire; his sight was dim. "That man!"
Razumov was saying to himself. "He!"

Henceforth it was by this monosyllable that Mr. Razumov got into
the habit of referring mentally to the stranger with grey silky
side-whiskers. From that time too, when walking in the more fashionable
quarters, he noted with interest the magnificent horses and carriages
with Prince K---'s liveries on the box. Once he saw the Princess get
out--she was shopping--followed by two girls, of which one was nearly a
head taller than the other. Their fair hair hung loose down their backs
in the English style; they had merry eyes, their coats, muffs, and
little fur caps were exactly alike, and their cheeks and noses were
tinged a cheerful pink by the frost. They crossed the pavement in front
of him, and Razumov went on his way smiling shyly to himself. "His"
daughters. They resembled "Him." The young man felt a glow of warm
friendliness towards these girls who would never know of his existence.
Presently they would marry Generals or Kammerherrs and have girls and
boys of their own, who perhaps would be aware of him as a celebrated old