"Not so loud," warned Razumov harshly.

Haldin sat down abruptly, and leaning his head on his folded arms burst
into tears. He wept for a long time. The dusk had deepened in the room.
Razumov, motionless in sombre wonder, listened to the sobs.

The other raised his head, got up and with an effort mastered his voice.

"Yes. Men like me leave no posterity," he repeated in a subdued tone,
"I have a sister though. She's with my old mother--I persuaded them to
go abroad this year--thank God. Not a bad little girl my sister. She has
the most trustful eyes of any human being that ever walked this earth.
She will marry well, I hope. She may have children--sons perhaps. Look
at me. My father was a Government official in the provinces, He had a
little land too. A simple servant of God--a true Russian in his way. His
was the soul of obedience. But I am not like him. They say I resemble
my mother's eldest brother, an officer. They shot him in '28. Under
Nicholas, you know. Haven't I told you that this is war, war.... But
God of Justice! This is weary work."

Razumov, in his chair, leaning his head on his hand, spoke as if from
the bottom of an abyss.

"You believe in God, Haldin?"

"There you go catching at words that are wrung from one. What does it
matter? What was it the Englishman said: 'There is a divine soul in
things...' Devil take him--I don't remember now. But he spoke the
truth. When the day of you thinkers comes don't you forget what's
divine in the Russian soul--and that's resignation. Respect that in your