“I too accomplish something. I have prepared several boys for the University,” remarked Leonti with hesitation, for he was not sure whether this was meritorious or not. “You imagine that I go into my class, then home, and forget about everything. That is not the case. Young people gather round me, attach themselves to me, and I show them drawings of old buildings, utensils, make sketches and give explanations, as I once did for you. What I know myself I communicate to others, explain the ancient ideals of virtue, expound classical life, just as our own classics are explained. Is that no longer essential?” “Certainly it has its advantage. But it has nothing to do with real life. One cannot live like that to-day. So much has disappeared, so many things have arisen that the Greeks and Romans never knew. But we need models from contemporary life, we must educate ourselves and others to be men. That is our task.” “No, I do not take that upon my shoulders; it is sufficient for one to take the models of ancient virtue from books. I myself live for and through myself. You see I live quietly and modestly, eat my vermicelli soup....” “Life for and through yourself is not life at all, it is a passive condition, and man is a fighting animal.” “I have already told you that I do my duty and do not interfere in anybody else’s business; and no one interferes with mine.” “Life’s arm is long, and will not spare even you. And how will you meet her blows--unprepared.” “What has Life to do with a humble man like me? I shall pass unnoticed. I have books, although they are not mine,” he said glancing hesitatingly at Raisky, “but you give me free use of them. My needs are small, I feel no boredom. I have a wife who loves me....” Raisky looked away. “And,” he added in a whisper, “I love her.” It was plain that as his mind nourished itself on the books, so his heart had found a warm refuge; he himself did not even know what bound him to life and books, and did not guess that he might keep his books and lose his life, and that his life would be maimed if his “Roman head” was stolen from him. Happy child, thought Raisky. In his learned sleep he does not notice the darkness that is hidden in that dear Roman head, nor how empty the woman’s heart is. He is helpless as far as she is concerned, and will never convince her of the virtues of the ancient ideals. CHAPTER VIII The sun was setting when Raisky returned home, and was received at the door by Marfinka. “Where did you get lost, Cousin?” she asked him. “Grandmother is very angry, and is grumbling....” “I was with Leonti,” returned Raisky indifferently. “I thought so, and told Grandmother so, but she won’t listen and will hardly speak even to Tiet Nikonich. He is with her now and Paulina Karpovna too. Go to Grandmother, and it will be all right. Are you afraid. Does your heart beat fast?” Raisky had to laugh. “She is very angry. We had prepared so many dishes.” “We will eat them up for supper.”