It was sublime!
Inwardly he wept and trembled already. But to the casual eyes that were
cast upon him he was aware that he appeared as a tranquil student in
a cloak, out for a leisurely stroll. He noted, too, the sidelong,
brilliant glance of a pretty woman--with a delicate head, and covered
in the hairy skins of wild beasts down to her feet, like a frail and
beautiful savage--which rested for a moment with a sort of mocking
tenderness on the deep abstraction of that good-looking young man.
Suddenly Razumov stood still. The glimpse of a passing grey whisker,
caught and lost in the same instant, had evoked the complete image of
Prince K---, the man who once had pressed his hand as no other man had
pressed it--a faint but lingering pressure like a secret sign, like a
half-unwilling caress.
And Razumov marvelled at himself. Why did he not think of him before!
"A senator, a dignitary, a great personage, the very man--He!"
A strange softening emotion came over Razumov--made his knees shake a
little. He repressed it with a new-born austerity. All that sentiment
was pernicious nonsense. He couldn't be quick enough; and when he got
into a sledge he shouted to the driver--"to the K--- Palace. Get
on--you! Fly!" The startled moujik, bearded up to the very whites of
his eyes, answered obsequiously--
"I hear, your high Nobility.
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