I somehow thought it couldn't be.
The address is Rue de Carouge. I think it must be one of those big new
houses for artisans."
She took my arm confidingly, familiarly, and accelerated her pace. There
was something primitive in our proceedings. We did not think of
the resources of civilization. A late tramcar overtook us; a row of
_fiacres_ stood by the railing of the gardens. It never entered our
heads to make use of these conveyances. She was too hurried, perhaps,
and as to myself--well, she had taken my arm confidingly. As we were
ascending the easy incline of the Corraterie, all the shops shuttered
and no light in any of the windows (as if all the mercenary population
had fled at the end of the day), she said tentatively--
"I could run in for a moment to have a look at mother. It would not be
much out of the way."
I dissuaded her. If Mrs. Haldin really expected to see Razumov that
night it would have been unwise to show herself without him. The sooner
we got hold of the young man and brought him along to calm her mother's
agitation the better. She assented to my reasoning, and we crossed
diagonally the Place de Theatre, bluish grey with its floor of slabs of
stone, under the electric light, and the lonely equestrian statue
all black in the middle. In the Rue de Carouge we were in the poorer
quarters and approaching the outskirts of the town.
Pages:
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423