He has a
wife and children--and why should he, after all.... Moreover, he is
without influential connections and not rich. What could he do?...
Yes, I am afraid of silence--for my poor mother. She won't be able
to bear it. For my brother I am afraid of..." she became almost
indistinct, "of anything."
We were now near the gate opposite the theatre. She raised her voice.
"But lost people do turn up even in Russia. Do you know what my last
hope is? Perhaps the next thing we know, we shall see him walking into
our rooms."
I raised my hat and she passed out of the gardens, graceful and strong,
after a slight movement of the head to me, her hands in the muff,
crumpling the cruel Petersburg letter.
On returning home I opened the newspaper I receive from London, and
glancing down the correspondence from Russia--not the telegrams but
the correspondence--the first thing that caught my eye was the name
of Haldin. Mr. de P---'s death was no longer an actuality, but the
enterprising correspondent was proud of having ferreted out some
unofficial information about that fact of modern history. He had got
hold of Haldin's name, and had picked up the story of the midnight
arrest in the street. But the sensation from a journalistic point of
view was already well in the past.
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