“I was visited and my house was searched today by an official acting in your Excellency’s name; therefore I am desirous⁠ ⁠…”

“Name? Name?” Lembke asked impatiently, seeming suddenly to have an inkling of something. Stepan Trofimovitch repeated his name still more majestically.

“A-a-ah! It’s⁠ ⁠… that hotbed⁠ ⁠… You have shown yourself, sir, in such a light.⁠ ⁠… Are you a professor? a professor?”

“I once had the honour of giving some lectures to the young men of the X university.”

“The young men!” Lembke seemed to start, though I am ready to bet that he grasped very little of what was going on or even, perhaps, did not know with whom he was talking.

“That, sir, I won’t allow,” he cried, suddenly getting terribly angry. “I won’t allow young men! It’s all these manifestoes? It’s an assault on society, sir, a piratical attack, filibustering.⁠ ⁠… What is your request?”