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Updated: June 5, 2025
There they were, filling up the floor of the glass case, moving with difficulty, getting in each other's way, sprawling and colliding, apparently without aim or purpose. At that spectacle my thoughts might well have taken a leap into the future and seen, instead of a crowded mass of butterflies, a crowded mass of humanity. I asked Sarakoff a question. "How old are they?"
Symington-Tearle usually had a most irritating effect upon me, but at the moment I felt totally indifferent to him. He entered in his customary manner, as if the whole of London were feverishly awaiting him. I introduced Sarakoff, but Symington-Tearle hardly noticed him. "Harden," he exclaimed in his loud dominating tones, "I am convinced that there is no such thing as this Blue Disease.
Nothing was said about immortality save what Sarakoff and I had stated at the Queen's Hall meeting. But instinctively the multitude leaped to the conclusion that if the end of disease was at hand, then the end of death at least, the postponement of death was to be expected. Jason, pale and masterful, visited us in the afternoon, and told us of the spread of the tidings in England.
"If you do not leave the establishment at once I will get a policeman," said the manager with a hiss. Sarakoff threw out his hands. "Make ready!" he cried. "The great uprooting!" He began to laugh unsteadily. "The end of disease and the end of desire there's no difference. You never knew that, brothers.
I am quite prepared to wait." "To wait for what?" I looked at him in unthinking surprise. "Until Mr. Annot dies, of course." Sarakoff remained motionless. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth, strolled to the window, and began to whistle to himself in subdued tones. A moment later he left the room. I picked up a time-table and looked out a train, a little puzzled by his behaviour.
Sarakoff shivered and drew his dressing-gown closely round him. I paid the man half-a-sovereign. There was a seat near by and Sarakoff deposited himself upon it. I joined him. On those heights the morning air struck chill. London, misty-blue, lay before us. The taxi-man took out his pipe and began to fill it. "Lucky me comin' along like that," he observed.
Inwardly he felt something insistent and imperious, forcing him to grasp words, to blunder into new meanings. Some new force was alive in him and he was carried on by it in spite of himself. He felt strung up to a pitch of nervous irritation. He got up from his chair and came forward, pointing at Sarakoff. "What's this?" he demanded. "Why don't you speak out? Yer cawn't hide it from me."
"You are ill. I will put you in a taxi." "You don't understand," said Sarakoff. "You are in it still. Don't you see I'm a traveller?" "He is mad," whispered a waiter in my ear. "A traveller," shouted the Russian. "But I've come back. Greeting, brothers. It was a rough journey, but now I hear and see you."
The brilliant entrance of the Pyramid Restaurant was before me, and within, standing on the marble floor, I saw the tall figure of the Russian. Sarakoff greeted me with enthusiasm. He was wearing evening-dress with a white waistcoat, and the fact perturbed me. I put my hat and stick in the cloakroom. "Who is coming?" I asked anxiously. "Leonora," he whispered.
"I have only one step further to take and the ideal germ will be created, Harden. Then we poor mortals will realize the dream that has haunted us since the beginning of time. We will attain immortality, and the fear of death, round which everything is built, will vanish. We will become gods!" "Or devils, Sarakoff," I murmured.
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