"Yes," he at last uttered with a laugh still lingering in his voice, "you may perhaps be right. A professor of Dogmatic Theology or Classical Philology would, with arms and legs extended and head bent on one side in profound thought, say something like this: 'This is merely an outburst of the most unbridled Individualism.' But, my dear fellow, luckily the thing does not depend on more or less categorical phrases and comminations fulminated in a loud voice, but on the fact that there is nothing in the world more real, practical and irrefutable than these so-called 'fancies,' which are certainly only the property of some few people. These fancies will some day more strongly and completely weld together the whole of mankind to a complete homogeneous body. But let us forget now that we are warriors. We are merely defenceless _starar_. Suppose we go up the street; there we see right before us a wonderful, merry-looking, two-headed monster[23] that attacks all who come within its reach, no matter who they be. It has not yet touched me, but the mere thought that this brute might ill-treat me, or insult a woman I loved, or deprive me of my liberty is enough to make me mad. I cannot overpower this creature by myself, but beside me walks another man filled with the same thirst for vengeance as I, and I say to him: 'Come, shall we go and kill the monster, so that he may not be able to dig his claws into any one!' You understand that all I have just been telling you is only a drastic simile, a hyperbole; but the truth is that I see, in this two-headed monster that which holds my soul captive, limits my individual freedom, and robs me of my manhood. And when that day dawns, then no more lamb-like love for one's neighbour, but the divine love to one's own Ego will be preached among men. Then, too, the double-headed monster's reign will be over." Nasanski stopped. This violent outburst had evidently been too much for his nerves. After a few minutes, he went on in a hollow voice: "My dear Georgi Alexievich, there rushes past us incessantly a brawling stream of divinely inspired, lofty, flaming thoughts and new and imperishable ideas which are to crush and bury for ever the bulwarks and golden idols of tyranny and darkness. We, however, keep on stamping in our old stalls and neighing: 'Ah, you poor jades, you ought to have a taste of the whip!'--And once more I say: This will never be forgiven us." Nasanski got up, wrapped his cloak round him with a slight shiver, and remarked in a weary voice: "I'm cold--let's go home." Romashov rowed out of the rushes. The sun was setting behind the roofs of the distant town, the dark outlines of which were sharply defined against the red evening sky. Here and there the sunrays were reflected by a gleaming window-pane. The greater part of the river's surface was as even as a mirror, and faded away in bright, sportive colours; but behind the boat the water was already dark, opaque, and curled by little light waves.