“To help him to do abominable things, because he and you at different times have been at universities, and neither of you did anything there!  What nonsense!”

“Stop; let us talk it over coolly.  I imagine it will be possible to make some arrangement. . . .”  Samoylenko reflected, twiddling his fingers.  “I’ll give him the money, you see, but make him promise on his honour that within a week he’ll send Nadyezhda Fyodorovna the money for the journey.”

“And he’ll give you his word of honour—­in fact, he’ll shed tears and believe in it himself; but what’s his word of honour worth?  He won’t keep it, and when in a year or two you meet him on the Nevsky Prospect with a new mistress on his arm, he’ll excuse himself on the ground that he has been crippled by civilisation, and that he is made after the pattern of Rudin.  Drop him, for God’s sake!  Keep away from the filth; don’t stir it up with both hands!”

Samoylenko thought for a minute and said resolutely: 

“But I shall give him the money all the same.  As you please.  I can’t bring myself to refuse a man simply on an assumption.”

“Very fine, too.  You can kiss him if you like.”

“Give me the hundred roubles, then,” Samoylenko asked timidly.

“I won’t.”

A silence followed.  Samoylenko was quite crushed; his face wore a guilty, abashed, and ingratiating expression, and it was strange to see this pitiful, childish, shamefaced countenance on a huge man wearing epaulettes and orders of merit.

“The bishop here goes the round of his diocese on horseback instead of in a carriage,” said the deacon, laying down his pen.  “It’s extremely touching to see him sit on his horse.  His simplicity and humility are full of Biblical grandeur.”

“Is he a good man?” asked Von Koren, who was glad to change the conversation.

“Of course!  If he hadn’t been a good man, do you suppose he would have been consecrated a bishop?”

“Among the bishops are to be found good and gifted men,” said Von Koren.  “The only drawback is that some of them have the weakness to imagine themselves statesmen.  One busies himself with Russification, another criticises the sciences.  That’s not their business.  They had much better look into their consistory a little.”

“A layman cannot judge of bishops.”

“Why so, deacon?  A bishop is a man just the same as you or I.”

“The same, but not the same.”  The deacon was offended and took up his pen.  “If you had been the same, the Divine Grace would have rested upon you, and you would have been bishop yourself; and since you are not bishop, it follows you are not the same.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, deacon,” said Samoylenko dejectedly.  “Listen to what I suggest,” he said, turning to Von Koren.  “Don’t give me that hundred roubles.  You’ll be having your dinners with me for three months before the winter, so let me have the money beforehand for three months.”