Razumov, going home, reflected that having prepared all the matters of the forthcoming examination, he could now devote his time to the subject of the prize essay.  He hankered after the silver medal.  The prize was offered by the Ministry of Education; the names of the competitors would be submitted to the Minister himself.  The mere fact of trying would be considered meritorious in the higher quarters; and the possessor of the prize would have a claim to an administrative appointment of the better sort after he had taken his degree.  The student Razumov in an access of elation forgot the dangers menacing the stability of the institutions which give rewards and appointments.  But remembering the medallist of the year before, Razumov, the young man of no parentage, was sobered.  He and some others happened to be assembled in their comrade’s rooms at the very time when that last received the official advice of his success.  He was a quiet, unassuming young man:  “Forgive me,” he had said with a faint apologetic smile and taking up his cap, “I am going out to order up some wine.  But I must first send a telegram to my folk at home.  I say!  Won’t the old people make it a festive time for the neighbours for twenty miles around our place.”

Razumov thought there was nothing of that sort for him in the world.  His success would matter to no one.  But he felt no bitterness against the nobleman his protector, who was not a provincial magnate as was generally supposed.  He was in fact nobody less than Prince K—–­, once a great and splendid figure in the world and now, his day being over, a Senator and a gouty invalid, living in a still splendid but more domestic manner.  He had some young children and a wife as aristocratic and proud as himself.

In all his life Razumov was allowed only once to come into personal contact with the Prince.

It had the air of a chance meeting in the little attorney’s office.  One day Razumov, coming in by appointment, found a stranger standing there—­a tall, aristocratic-looking Personage with silky, grey sidewhiskers.  The bald-headed, sly little lawyer-fellow called out, “Come in—­come in, Mr. Razumov,” with a sort of ironic heartiness.  Then turning deferentially to the stranger with the grand air, “A ward of mine, your Excellency.  One of the most promising students of his faculty in the St. Petersburg University.”

To his intense surprise Razumov saw a white shapely hand extended to him.  He took it in great confusion (it was soft and passive) and heard at the same time a condescending murmur in which he caught only the words “Satisfactory” and “Persevere.”  But the most amazing thing of all was to feel suddenly a distinct pressure of the white shapely hand just before it was withdrawn:  a light pressure like a secret sign.  The emotion of it was terrible.  Razumov’s heart seemed to leap into his throat.  When he raised his eyes the aristocratic personage, motioning the little lawyer aside, had opened the door and was going out.