RUDIN
his ideals haven’t altered at five-and-thirty! It’s not every one who can say that of himself!’
‘Sit down,’ said Alexandra Pavlovna, ‘why do you keep moving about like a pendulum?’
‘I like it better,’ answered Lezhnyov. ‘Well, after I had come into Pokorsky’s set, I may tell you, Alexandra Pavlovna, I was quite transformed; I grew humble and anxious to learn; I studied, and was happy and reverent—in a word, I felt just as though I had entered a holy temple. And really, when I recall our gatherings, upon my word there was much that was fine, even touching, in them. Imagine a party of five or six lads gathered together, one tallow candle burning. The tea was dreadful stuff, and the cake was stale, very stale; but you should have seen our faces, you should have heard our talk! Eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm, cheeks flushed, and hearts beating, while we talked of God, and truth, of the future of humanity, and poetry . . . often what we said was absurd, and we were in ecstasies over nonsense; but what of that? . . . Pokorsky sat with crossed legs, his pale cheek on his hand, and his eyes seemed
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