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He noted the time of Haldin's departure and continued to sit still for another half-hour; then muttering, "And now to work," drew up to the table, seized the pen and instantly dropped it under the influence of a profoundly disquieting reflection: "There's three weeks gone by and no word from Mikulin." What did it mean! Was he forgotten? Possibly. Then why not remain forgotten creep in somewhere?
A devotion to Church and Throne is not in itself a criminal sentiment; to prefer the will of one to the will of many does not argue the possession of a black heart or prove congenital idiocy. Councillor Mikulin was not only a clever but also a faithful official.
"That man, Haldin, believed in God." "Ah! You are aware," breathed out Councillor Mikulin, making the point softly, as if with discretion, but making it nevertheless plainly enough, as if he too were put off his guard by Razumov's remark.
He glanced down his beard, and, after a moment of thoughtful silence, handed to Razumov a half-sheet of notepaper an abbreviated note of matters already discussed, certain points of inquiry, the line of conduct agreed on, a few hints as to personalities, and so on. It was the only compromising document in the case, but, as Councillor Mikulin observed, "it could be easily destroyed. Mr.
"It was you see judged necessary. In a case of that gravity no means of action upon the culprit should be neglected. You understand that yourself, I am certain. "Razumov stared with enormous wide eyes at the side view of Councillor Mikulin, who now was not looking at him at all.
Yet he could not defend himself from fancying that Councillor Mikulin was, perhaps, the only man in the world able to understand his conduct. To be understood appeared extremely fascinating.
But if a drunken man runs out of the grog-shop, falls on your neck and kisses you on both cheeks because something about your appearance has taken his fancy, what then kindly tell me? You may break, perhaps, a cudgel on his back and yet not succeed in beating him off...." Councillor Mikulin raised his hand and passed it down his face deliberately. "That's... of course," he said in an undertone.
Visionaries work everlasting evil on earth. Their Utopias inspire in the mass of mediocre minds a disgust of reality and a contempt for the secular logic of human development." Razumov shrugged his shoulders and stared. "What a tirade!" he thought. The silence and immobility of Councillor Mikulin impressed him.
At first he thought of nothing; but in a little while the consciousness of his position presented itself to him as something so ugly, dangerous, and absurd, the difficulty of ever freeing himself from the toils of that complication so insoluble, that the idea of going back and, as he termed it to himself, confessing to Councillor Mikulin flashed through his mind. Go back! What for? Confess!
I think faithfully and I take the liberty to call myself a thinker. It is not a forbidden word, as far as I know." "No. Why should it be a forbidden word?" Councillor Mikulin turned in his seat with crossed legs and resting his elbow on the table propped his head on the knuckles of a half-closed hand.
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