I addressed Miss Haldin, asking her what authors she wished to read.  She directed upon me her grey eyes shaded by black eyelashes, and I became aware, notwithstanding my years, how attractive physically her personality could be to a man capable of appreciating in a woman something else than the mere grace of femininity.  Her glance was as direct and trustful as that of a young man yet unspoiled by the world’s wise lessons.  And it was intrepid, but in this intrepidity there was nothing aggressive.  A naive yet thoughtful assurance is a better definition.  She had reflected already (in Russia the young begin to think early), but she had never known deception as yet because obviously she had never yet fallen under the sway of passion.  She was—­to look at her was enough—­very capable of being roused by an idea or simply by a person.  At least, so I judged with I believe an unbiassed mind; for clearly my person could not be the person—­and as to my ideas!...

We became excellent friends in the course of our reading.  It was very pleasant.  Without fear of provoking a smile, I shall confess that I became very much attached to that young girl.  At the end of four months I told her that now she could very well go on reading English by herself.  It was time for the teacher to depart.  My pupil looked unpleasantly surprised.

Mrs. Haldin, with her immobility of feature and kindly expression of the eyes, uttered from her armchair in her uncertain French, “Mais l’ami reviendra.” And so it was settled.  I returned—­not four times a week as before, but pretty frequently.  In the autumn we made some short excursions together in company with other Russians.  My friendship with these ladies gave me a standing in the Russian colony which otherwise I could not have had.

The day I saw in the papers the news of Mr. de P—–­’s assassination—­it was a Sunday—­I met the two ladies in the street and walked with them for some distance.  Mrs. Haldin wore a heavy grey cloak, I remember, over her black silk dress, and her fine eyes met mine with a very quiet expression.

“We have been to the late service,” she said.  “Natalka came with me.  Her girl-friends, the students here, of course don’t....  With us in Russia the church is so identified with oppression, that it seems almost necessary when one wishes to be free in this life, to give up all hope of a future existence.  But I cannot give up praying for my son.”

She added with a sort of stony grimness, colouring slightly, and in French, “Ce n’est peut etre qu’une habitude.” ("It may be only habit.”)

Miss Haldin was carrying the prayer-book.  She did not glance at her mother.

“You and Victor are both profound believers,” she said.

I communicated to them the news from their country which I had just read in a cafe.  For a whole minute we walked together fairly briskly in silence.  Then Mrs. Haldin murmured—­