to be disconcerted by this silence. I glanced at him from time to time, not so much to satisfy myself as to the impression my words were making on him, as to find out why he neither objected nor agreed, but sat like a deaf mute. At last I fancied that there was . . . yes, there certainly was a change in his face. It began to show signs of uneasiness, agitation, painful agitation. . . Yet, strange to say, the eager, bright, laughing something, which had struck me at my first glance at Tarhov, still did not leave that agitated, that troubled face! I could not make up my mind whether or no to congratulate myself on the success of my sermon, when Tarhov suddenly got up, and pressing both my hands, said, speaking very quickly, 'Thank you, thank you. You 're right, of course, . . . though, on the other side, one might observe . . . What is your Baburin you make so much of, after all? An honest fool—and nothing more! You call him a republican—and he 's simply a fool! Oo! That 's what he is! All his republicanism simply means that he can never get on anywhere!'
'Ah! so that 's your idea! A fool! can never get on!—but let me tell you,' I pursued, with sudden heat, 'let me tell you, my dear Vladimir Nikolaitch, that in these days to get on nowhere is a sign of a fine, a noble nature! None but worthless people—bad people—get on anywhere and accommodate themselves to
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