Nathalie Haldin murmured sadly—­

“I suppose you are wondering what my feelings are?”

Essentially that was true.  It was that very wonder which unsettled my sympathy of a dense Occidental.  I could get hold of nothing but of some commonplace phrases, those futile phrases that give the measure of our impotence before each other’s trials I mumbled something to the effect that, for the young, life held its hopes and compensations.  It held duties too—­but of that I was certain it was not necessary to remind her.

She had a handkerchief in her hands and pulled at it nervously.

“I am not likely to forget my mother,” she said.  “We used to be three.  Now we are two—­two women.  She’s not so very old.  She may live quite a long time yet.  What have we to look for in the future?  For what hope and what consolation?”

“You must take a wider view,” I said resolutely, thinking that with this exceptional creature this was the right note to strike.  She looked at me steadily for a moment, and then the tears she had been keeping down flowed unrestrained.  She jumped up and stood in the window with her back to me.

I slipped away without attempting even to approach her.  Next day I was told at the door that Mrs. Haldin was better.  The middle-aged servant remarked that a lot of people—­Russians—­had called that day, but Miss Haldin bad not seen anybody.  A fortnight later, when making my daily call, I was asked in and found Mrs. Haldin sitting in her usual place by the window.

At first one would have thought that nothing was changed.  I saw across the room the familiar profile, a little sharper in outline and overspread by a uniform pallor as might have been expected in an invalid.  But no disease could have accounted for the change in her black eyes, smiling no longer with gentle irony.  She raised them as she gave me her hand.  I observed the three weeks’ old number of the Standard folded with the correspondence from Russia uppermost, lying on a little table by the side of the armchair.  Mrs. Haldin’s voice was startlingly weak and colourless.  Her first words to me framed a question.

“Has there been anything more in papers?”

I released her long emaciated hand, shook my head negatively, and sat down.

“The English press is wonderful.  Nothing can be kept secret from it, and all the world must hear.  Only our Russian news is not always easy to understand.  Not always easy....  But English mothers do not look for news like that....”

She laid her hand on the newspaper and took it away again.  I said—­

“We too have had tragic times in our history.”

“A long time ago.  A very long time ago.”

“Yes.”

“There are nations that have made their bargain with fate,” said Miss Haldin, who had approached us.  “We need not envy them.”

“Why this scorn?” I asked gently.  “It may be that our bargain was not a very lofty one.  But the terms men and nations obtain from Fate are hallowed by the price.”