“I call such coolness superb—that’s all. It is a proof of uncommon strength of character. The young man writes that nobody could have guessed from your face and manner the part you had played only some two hours before—the great, momentous, glorious part....”
“Oh no. Nobody could have guessed,” assented Razumov gravely, “because, don’t you see, nobody at that time....”
“Yes, yes. But all the same you are a man of exceptional fortitude, it seems. You looked exactly as usual. It was remembered afterwards with wonder....”
“It cost me no effort,” Razumov declared, with the same staring gravity.
“Then it’s almost more wonderful still!” she exclaimed, and fell silent while Razumov asked himself whether he had not said there something utterly unnecessary—or even worse.
She raised her head eagerly.
“Your intention was to stay in Russia? You had planned....”
“No,” interrupted Razumov without haste. “I had made no plans of any sort.”
“You just simply walked away?” she struck in.
He bowed his head in slow assent. “Simply—yes.” He had gradually released his hold on the bar of the gate, as though he had acquired the conviction that no random shot could knock him over now. And suddenly he was inspired to add, “The snow was coming down very thick, you know.”