face--you could model Brutus from it straight off. Do you know who
Brutus was, Uvar Ivanovitch?'

'What is there to know? a man to be sure.'

'Precisely so: he was a "man." Yes he's a wonderful face, but
unhealthy, very unhealthy.'

'For fighting ... it makes no difference,' observed Uvar Ivanovitch.

'For fighting it makes no difference, certainly; you are pleased to
express yourself with great justice to-day; but for living it makes
all the difference. And you see she wants to live with him a little
while.'

'A youthful affair,' responded Uvar Ivanovitch.

'Yes, a youthful, glorious, bold affair. Death, life, conflict,
defeat, triumph, love, freedom, country. . . . Good God, grant as much
to all of us! That's a very different thing from sitting up to one's
neck in a bog, and pretending it's all the same to you, when in fact
it really is all the same. While there--the strings are tuned to the
highest pitch, to play to all the world or to break!'

Shubin's head sank on to his breast.

'Yes,' he resumed, after a prolonged silence, 'Insarov deserves her.
What nonsense, though! No one deserves her. . . Insarov . . . Insarov
. . . What's the use of pretended modesty? We'll own he's a fine
fellow, he stands on his own feet, though up to the present he has