“It was unheard of; it was shameful,” Miss Haldin pursued, with angry eyes. “Il lui a fait une scene—­like this, before strangers.  And for what?  You would never guess.  For some eggs....  Oh!”

I was astonished.  “Eggs, did you say?”

“For Madame de S—.  That lady observes a special diet, or something of the sort.  It seems she complained the day before to Peter Ivanovitch that the eggs were not rightly prepared.  Peter Ivanovitch suddenly remembered this against the poor woman, and flew out at her.  It was most astonishing.  I stood as if rooted.”

“Do you mean to say that the great feminist allowed himself to be abusive to a woman?” I asked.

“Oh, not that!  It was something you have no conception of.  It was an odious performance.  Imagine, he raised his hat to begin with.  He made his voice soft and deprecatory.  ’Ah! you are not kind to us—­you will not deign to remember....’  This sort of phrases, that sort of tone.  The poor creature was terribly upset.  Her eyes ran full of tears.  She did not know where to look.  I shouldn’t wonder if she would have preferred abuse, or even a blow.”

I did not remark that very possibly she was familiar with both on occasions when no one was by.  Miss Haldin walked by my side, her head up in scornful and angry silence.

“Great men have their surprising peculiarities,” I observed inanely.  “Exactly like men who are not great.  But that sort of thing cannot be kept up for ever.  How did the great feminist wind up this very characteristic episode?”

Miss Haldin, without turning her face my way, told me that the end was brought about by the appearance of the interviewer, who had been closeted with Madame de S—.

He came up rapidly, unnoticed, lifted his hat slightly, and paused to say in French:  “The Baroness has asked me, in case I met a lady on my way out, to desire her to come in at once.”

After delivering this message, he hurried down the drive.  The dame de compagnie flew towards the house, and Peter Ivanovitch followed her hastily, looking uneasy.  In a moment Miss Haldin found herself alone with the young man, who undoubtedly must have been the new arrival from Russia.  She wondered whether her brother’s friend had not already guessed who she was.

I am in a position to say that, as a matter of fact, he had guessed.  It is clear to me that Peter Ivanovitch, for some reason or other, had refrained from alluding to these ladies’ presence in Geneva.  But Razumov had guessed.  The trustful girl!  Every word uttered by Haldin lived in Razumov’s memory.  They were like haunting shapes; they could not be exorcised.  The most vivid amongst them was the mention of the sister.  The girl had existed for him ever since.  But he did not recognize her at once.  Coming up with Peter Ivanovitch, he did observe her; their eyes had met, even.  He had responded, as no one could help responding, to the