"Ah, Ivor," he said, "so you are come back. You are welcome."
Ivor thanked him and turned towards his own desk, where lay neatly piled together various documents and papers, anticipatory of his expected return. Several newly cut quills were in the pen-tray, and a fresh unstained pad was opened invitingly. An amused smile came to the young man's face; it was all so absurdly natural and familiar; his absence of weeks faded away and became visionary and unreal, in this crude matter-of-fact light of official routine.
What did it matter to Patouchki that he, Ivor, had but just come from those distant, far-reaching steppes, where the shy game and wild animals flew before his footsteps, and the miles of low stunted forest ended only with the horizon line, to meet which the cold grey sky appeared to curve in an almost perceptible arch.
Standing alone, amidst his vast possessions, surrounded by a limitless silence, Tolskoi had better understood than ever before the meaning of the word freedom, and the unfathomableness of that undefined yet distinct craving for something higher and greater, than this world gives, which is implanted in every human heart. That vain, vague stretching after the unattainable, the blue flower of the mountains, the edelweiss of the Alps, which grows only on the heights of sacrifice and abnegation, and which, like the precious stone set with the jewels of suffering, is only attainable "to him that overcometh." Great indeed is his reward, "and his joy no man taketh from him."
Ivor had carried with him during all his long return journey by road and rail, a recollection of this wider outlook, and it gave him therefore somewhat of a moral shock to find the world of Petersburg—his world—busily engaged just as he had left it, not only not recognising any spiritual change in him, but not even aware of any better or higher aims than those attainable by intrigue, and shameless pandering to the powers of the moment.
Although he had stood face to face with God and Nature, for one brief moment, what was that to them? Here, in Petersburg, neither the Almighty nor Nature, had part or lot in the fierce, unending struggle called life.
With a shrug of his shoulders Ivor took his accustomed place, and as he broke the first seal felt the better influences fall from him, and the old power reassert itself.
If, as we are told, each soul has its fatal moment of choice, on which depends its final development, this was that moment for Ivor Tolskoi, and in accepting the old life with that careless gesture and cynical smile, he put from him for ever the higher calling that might have been his, and set his feet in the downward path of deterioration.
After a short interval of silence, Patouchki turned towards him with his old imperiousness of manner, and said, abruptly:
"About this woman, Tolskoi, this Adèle Lamien, whom you avow you saw. So far we have been unable to obtain any trace of her here, or learn anything concerning her movements; while on the other hand Count Mellikoff sends repeated messages of confidence as to his assured success, and the infallibility of his approaching coup de main. So after all, my dear Ivor, you must have been the victim of a delusion. It is impossible for Adèle Lamien to be in Petersburg without the Chancellerie's knowledge."