"Nothing will pass away."
"Everything," rejoined Maklakov calmly.
It was cold and dark, and sleet was falling. The reflections of the lights lay upon the mud in golden patches, which the people and horses tramped upon and extinguished. The two men were silent for a long time. Yevsey, his brain empty, looked into space, and felt that Maklakov was watching his face, in wait for something.
"You'll get used to it," Maklakov went on, "but if you have another position, leave it at once. Have you?"
"No."
"Is it long since you've been in the Department of Safety?"
"Yesterday."
"That accounts for it."
"Now where am I to go?" inquired Yevsey quietly.
Maklakov instead of replying to the question asked: