Razumov lived? Mr. Razumov? At this hour--so urgently? I threw
my arms up in sign of utter ignorance. I had not the slightest idea
where he lived. If I could have foreseen her question only three hours
ago, I might have ventured to ask him on the pavement before the new
post office building, and possibly he would have told me, but very
possibly, too, he would have dismissed me rudely to mind my own
business. And possibly, I thought, remembering that extraordinary
hallucined, anguished, and absent expression, he might have fallen down
in a fit from the shock of being spoken to. I said nothing of all this
to Miss Haldin, not even mentioning that I had a glimpse of the young
man so recently. The impression had been so extremely unpleasant that I
would have been glad to forget it myself.
"I don't see where I could make inquiries," I murmured helplessly. I
would have been glad to be of use in any way, and would have set off to
fetch any man, young or old, for I had the greatest confidence in
her common sense. "What made you think of coming to me for that
information?" I asked.
"It wasn't exactly for that," she said, in a low voice. She had the air
of some one confronted by an unpleasant task.
"Am I to understand that you must communicate with Mr. Razumov this
evening?"
Natalia Haldin moved her head affirmatively; then, after a glance at the
door of the drawing-room, said in French--
"_C'est maman_," and remained perplexed for a moment.
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