Peter Ivanovitch got up and moved off quietly, to stand with his face to the window.  Razumov heard a door close; he turned his head and perceived that the lady companion had scuttled out of the room.

“In matters of politics I am a supernaturalist.”  Madame de S—­ broke the silence harshly.

Peter Ivanovitch moved away from the window and struck Razumov lightly on the shoulder.  This was a signal for leaving, but at the same time he addressed Madame de S—­ in a peculiar reminding tone—–­

“Eleanor!”

Whatever it meant, she did not seem to hear him.  She leaned back in the corner of the sofa like a wooden figure.  The immovable peevishness of the face, framed in the limp, rusty lace, had a character of cruelty.

“As to extirpating,” she croaked at the attentive Razumov, “there is only one class in Russia which must be extirpated.  Only one.  And that class consists of only one family.  You understand me?  That one family must be extirpated.”

Her rigidity was frightful, like the rigor of a corpse galvanized into harsh speech and glittering stare by the force of murderous hate.  The sight fascinated Razumov—­yet he felt more self-possessed than at any other time since he had entered this weirdly bare room.  He was interested.  But the great feminist by his side again uttered his appeal—­

“Eleanor!”

She disregarded it.  Her carmine lips vaticinated with an extraordinary rapidity.  The liberating spirit would use arms before which rivers would part like Jordan, and ramparts fall down like the walls of Jericho.  The deliverance from bondage would be effected by plagues and by signs, by wonders and by war.  The women....

“Eleanor!”

She ceased; she had heard him at last.  She pressed her hand to her forehead.

“What is it?  Ah yes!  That girl—­the sister of....”

It was Miss Haldin that she meant.  That young girl and her mother had been leading a very retired life.  They were provincial ladies—­were they not?  The mother had been very beautiful—­traces were left yet.  Peter Ivanovitch, when he called there for the first time, was greatly struck....But the cold way they received him was really surprising.

“He is one of our national glories,” Madams de S—­ cried out, with sudden vehemence.  “All the world listens to him.”

“I don’t know these ladies,” said Razumov loudly rising from his chair.

“What are you saying, Kirylo Sidorovitch?  I understand that she was talking to you here, in the garden, the other day.”

“Yes, in the garden,” said Razumov gloomily.  Then, with an effort, “She made herself known to me.”

“And then ran away from us all,” Madame de S—­ continued, with ghastly vivacity.  “After coming to the very door!  What a peculiar proceeding!  Well, I have been a shy little provincial girl at one time.  Yes, Razumov” (she fell into this familiarity intentionally, with an appalling grimace of graciousness.  Razumov gave a perceptible start), “yes, that’s my origin.  A simple provincial family.