“Prejudice!” he cried.  “You astonish me.  And suppose she was all that!  She is also a woman of flesh and blood.  There is always something to weigh down the spiritual side in all of us.  But to make of it a reproach is what I did not expect from you.  No!  I did not expect that.  One would think you have listened to some malevolent scandal.”

“I have heard no gossip, I assure you.  In our province how could we?  But the world speaks of her.  What can there be in common in a lady of that sort and an obscure country girl like me?”

“She is a perpetual manifestation of a noble and peerless spirit,” he broke in.  “Her charm—­no, I shall not speak of her charm.  But, of course, everybody who approaches her falls under the spell....  Contradictions vanish, trouble falls away from one....  Unless I am mistaken—­but I never make a mistake in spiritual matters—­you are troubled in your soul, Natalia Victorovna.”

Miss Haldin’s clear eyes looked straight at his soft enormous face; I received the impression that behind these dark spectacles of his he could be as impudent as he chose.

“Only the other evening walking back to town from Chateau Borel with our latest interesting arrival from Petersburg, I could notice the powerful soothing influence—­I may say reconciling influence....  There he was, all these kilometres along the shores of the lake, silent, like a man who has been shown the way of peace.  I could feel the leaven working in his soul, you understand.  For one thing he listened to me patiently.  I myself was inspired that evening by the firm and exquisite genius of Eleanor—­Madame de S—­, you know.  It was a full moon and I could observe his face.  I cannot be deceived....”

Miss Haldin, looking down, seemed to hesitate.

“Well!  I will think of what you said, Peter Ivanovitch.  I shall try to call as soon as I can leave mother for an hour or two safely.”

Coldly as these words were said I was amazed at the concession.  He snatched her right hand with such fervour that I thought he was going to press it to his lips or his breast.  But he only held it by the finger-tips in his great paw and shook it a little up and down while he delivered his last volley of words.

“That’s right.  That’s right.  I haven’t obtained your full confidence as yet, Natalia Victorovna, but that will come.  All in good time.  The sister of Viktor Haldin cannot be without importance....  It’s simply impossible.  And no woman can remain sitting on the steps.  Flowers, tears, applause—­that has had its time; it’s a mediaeval conception.  The arena, the arena itself is the place for women!”

He relinquished her hand with a flourish, as if giving it to her for a gift, and remained still, his head bowed in dignified submission before her femininity.

“The arena!...  You must descend into the arena, Natalia.”

He made one step backwards, inclined his enormous body, and was gone swiftly.  The door fell to behind him.  But immediately the powerful resonance of his voice was heard addressing in the ante-room the middle-aged servant woman who was letting him out.  Whether he exhorted her too to descend into the arena I cannot tell.  The thing sounded like a lecture, and the slight crash of the outer door cut it short suddenly.