A great disquiet made his heart beat quicker. The
high official, issuing from behind the desk, was actually offering to
shake hands with him.
"Good-bye, Mr Razumov. An understanding between intelligent men is
always a satisfactory occurrence. Is it not? And, of course, these rebel
gentlemen have not the monopoly of intelligence."
"I presume that I shall not be wanted any more?" Razumov brought out
that question while his hand was still being grasped. Councillor Mikulin
released it slowly.
"That, Mr. Razumov," he said with great earnestness, "is as it may
be. God alone knows the future. But you may rest assured that I
never thought of having you watched. You are a young man of great
independence. Yes. You are going away free as air, but you shall end by
coming back to us."
"I! I!" Razumov exclaimed in an appalled murmur of protest. "What for?"
he added feebly.
"Yes! You yourself, Kirylo Sidorovitch," the high police functionary
insisted in a low, severe tone of conviction. "You shall be coming back
to us. Some of our greatest minds had to do that in the end."
"You have no better friend than Prince K---, and as to myself it is a
long time now since I've been honoured by his...."
He glanced down his beard.
"I won't detain you any longer. We live in difficult times, in times
of monstrous chimeras and evil dreams and criminal follies.
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