“Before we parted I told Mr. Razumov that I walked here for an hour every day at this time.  I could not explain to him then why I did not ask him to come and see us at once.  Mother must be prepared for such a visit.  And then, you see, I do not know myself what Mr. Razumov has to tell us.  He, too, must be told first how it is with poor mother.  All these thoughts flashed through my mind at once.  So I told him hurriedly that there was a reason why I could not ask him to see us at home, but that I was in the habit of walking here....  This is a public place, but there are never many people about at this hour.  I thought it would do very well.  And it is so near our apartments.  I don’t like to be very far away from mother.  Our servant knows where I am in case I should be wanted suddenly.”

“Yes.  It is very convenient from that point of view,” I agreed.

In fact, I thought the Bastions a very convenient place, since the girl did not think it prudent as yet to introduce that young man to her mother.  It was here, then, I thought, looking round at that plot of ground of deplorable banality, that their acquaintance will begin and go on in the exchange of generous indignations and of extreme sentiments, too poignant, perhaps, for a non-Russian mind to conceive.  I saw these two, escaped out of four score of millions of human beings ground between the upper and nether millstone, walking under these trees, their young heads close together.  Yes, an excellent place to stroll and talk in.  It even occurred to me, while we turned once more away from the wide iron gates, that when tired they would have plenty of accommodation to rest themselves.  There was a quantity of tables and chairs displayed between the restaurant chalet and the bandstand, a whole raft of painted deals spread out under the trees.  In the very middle of it I observed a solitary Swiss couple, whose fate was made secure from the cradle to the grave by the perfected mechanism of democratic institutions in a republic that could almost be held in the palm of ones hand.  The man, colourlessly uncouth, was drinking beer out of a glittering glass; the woman, rustic and placid, leaning back in the rough chair, gazed idly around.

There is little logic to be expected on this earth, not only in the matter of thought, but also of sentiment.  I was surprised to discover myself displeased with that unknown young man.  A week had gone by since they met.  Was he callous, or shy, or very stupid?  I could not make it out.

“Do you think,” I asked Miss Haldin, after we had gone some distance up the great alley, “that Mr Razumov understood your intention?”

“Understood what I meant?” she wondered.  “He was greatly moved.  That I know!  In my own agitation I could see it.  But I spoke distinctly.  He heard me; he seemed, indeed, to hang on my words...”

Unconsciously she had hastened her pace.  Her utterance, too, became quicker.