III
"You will come in for a moment?" said Natalia Haldin.
I demurred on account of the late hour. "You know mother likes you so
much," she insisted.
"I will just come in to hear how your mother is."
She said, as if to herself, "I don't even know whether she will believe
that I could not find Mr. Razumov, since she has taken it into her head
that I am concealing something from her. You may be able to persuade
her...."
"Your mother may mistrust me too," I observed.
"You! Why? What could you have to conceal from her? You are not a
Russian nor a conspirator."
I felt profoundly my European remoteness, and said nothing, but I made
up my mind to play my part of helpless spectator to the end. The distant
rolling of thunder in the valley of the Rhone was coming nearer to the
sleeping town of prosaic virtues and universal hospitality. We crossed
the street opposite the great dark gateway, and Miss Haldin rang at the
door of the apartment. It was opened almost instantly, as if the
elderly maid had been waiting in the ante-room for our return. Her flat
physiognomy had an air of satisfaction. The gentleman was there, she
declared, while closing the door.
Neither of us understood. Miss Haldin turned round brusquely to her.
"Who?"
"Herr Razumov," she explained.
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