Kostia, recovering from his surprise at
these manoeuvres, ran up behind him pressingly.
"No! Wait! Listen. I really mean it. It would be like giving your
compassion to a starving fellow. Do you hear, Kirylo? And any disguise
you may think of, that too I could procure from a costumier, a Jew I
know. Let a fool be made serviceable according to his folly. Perhaps
also a false beard or something of that kind may be needed.
"Razumov turned at bay.
"There are no false beards needed in this business, Kostia--you
good-hearted lunatic, you. What do you know of my ideas? My ideas may be
poison to you." The other began to shake his head in energetic protest.
"What have you got to do with ideas? Some of them would make an end
of your dad's money-bags. Leave off meddling with what you don't
understand. Go back to your trotting horses and your girls, and then
you'll be sure at least of doing no harm to anybody, and hardly any to
yourself."
The enthusiastic youth was overcome by this disdain.
"You're sending me back to my pig's trough, Kirylo. That settles it. I
am an unlucky beast--and I shall die like a beast too. But mind--it's
your contempt that has done for me."
Razumov went off with long strides. That this simple and grossly festive
soul should have fallen too under the revolutionary curse affected him
as an ominous symptom of the time.
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