“I see now how it is, Razumov—brother. You are a magnanimous soul, but my action is abhorrent to you—alas....”
Razumov stared. From fright he had set his teeth so hard that his whole face ached. It was impossible for him to make a sound.
“And even my person, too, is loathsome to you perhaps,” Haldin added mournfully, after a short pause, looking up for a moment, then fixing his gaze on the floor. “For indeed, unless one....”
He broke off evidently waiting for a word. Razumov remained silent. Haldin nodded his head dejectedly twice.
“Of course. Of course,” he murmured.... “Ah! weary work!”
He remained perfectly still for a moment, then made Razumov’s leaden heart strike a ponderous blow by springing up briskly.
“So be it,” he cried sadly in a low, distinct tone. “Farewell then.”
Razumov started forward, but the sight of Haldin’s raised hand checked him before he could get away from the table. He leaned on it heavily, listening to the faint sounds of some town clock tolling the hour. Haldin, already at the door, tall and straight as an arrow, with his pale face and a hand raised attentively, might have posed for the statue of a daring youth listening to an inner voice. Razumov mechanically glanced down at his watch. When he looked towards the door again Haldin had vanished. There was a faint rustling in the outer room, the feeble click of a bolt drawn back lightly. He was gone—almost as noiseless as a vision.
Razumov ran forward unsteadily, with parted, voiceless lips. The outer door stood open. Staggering out on the landing, he leaned far over the banister. Gazing down into the deep black shaft with a tiny glimmering flame at the bottom, he traced by ear the rapid spiral descent of somebody running down the stairs on tiptoe. It was a light, swift, pattering sound, which sank away from him into the depths: a fleeting shadow passed over the glimmer—a wink of the tiny flame. Then stillness.
Razumov hung over, breathing the cold raw air tainted by the evil smells of the unclean staircase. All quiet.