Razumov staggered back against the table. His forehead broke out in
perspiration while a cold shudder ran down his spine.

"What have I been saying?" he asked himself. "Have I let him slip
through my fingers after all?"

"He felt his lips go stiff like buckram, and instead of a reassuring
smile only achieved an uncertain grimace.

"What will you have?" he began in a conciliating voice which got steady
after the first trembling word or two. "What will you have? Consider--a
man of studious, retired habits--and suddenly like this.... I am not
practised in talking delicately. But..."

He felt anger, a wicked anger, get hold of him again.

"What were we to do together till midnight? Sit here opposite each other
and think of your--your--shambles?"

Haldin had a subdued, heartbroken attitude. He bowed his head; his hands
hung between his knees. His voice was low and pained but calm.

"I see now how it is, Razumov--brother. You are a magnanimous soul, but
my action is abhorrent to you--alas...."

Razumov stared. From fright he had set his teeth so hard that his whole
face ached. It was impossible for him to make a sound.

"And even my person, too, is loathsome to you perhaps," Haldin added
mournfully, after a short pause, looking up for a moment, then fixing