"Providence itself has led the wretch in a moment of mental aberration
to seek Mr. Razumov on the strength of some old, utterly misinterpreted
exchange of ideas--some sort of idle speculative conversation--months
ago--I am told--and completely forgotten till now by Mr. Razumov."

"Mr. Razumov," queried the General meditatively, after a short silence,
"do you often indulge in speculative conversation?"

"No, Excellency," answered Razumov, coolly, in a sudden access of
self-confidence. "I am a man of deep convictions. Crude opinions are
in the air. They are not always worth combating. But even the silent
contempt of a serious mind may be misinterpreted by headlong utopists."

The General stared from between his hands. Prince K--- murmured--

"A serious young man. _Un esprit superieur_."

"I see that, _mon cher Prince_," said the General. "Mr. Razumov is quite
safe with me. I am interested in him. He has, it seems, the great and
useful quality of inspiring confidence. What I was wondering at is why
the other should mention anything at all--I mean even the bare fact
alone--if his object was only to obtain temporary shelter for a few
hours. For, after all, nothing was easier than to say nothing about it
unless, indeed, he were trying, under a crazy misapprehension of your
true sentiments, to enlist your assistance--eh, Mr. Razumov?"

It seemed to Razumov that the floor was moving slightly. This grotesque
man in a tight uniform was terrible. It was right that he should be
terrible.