n. An invincible repugnance prevented her from opening
one of the doors in the hall. It was so hopeless. No one would come, the
voice would never stop. She confessed to me that she had to resist an
impulse to turn round and go away unseen, as she had come.

"Really? You had that impulse?" I cried, full of regret. "What a pity
you did not obey it."

She shook her head.

"What a strange memory it would have been for one. Those deserted
grounds, that empty hall, that impersonal, voluble voice, and--nobody,
nothing, not a soul."

The memory would have been unique and harmless. But she was not a girl
to run away from an intimidating impression of solitude and mystery.
"No, I did not run away," she said. "I stayed where I was--and I did see
a soul. Such a strange soul."

As she was gazing up the broad staircase, and had concluded that
the voice came from somewhere above, a rustle of dress attracted her
attention. She looked down and saw a woman crossing the hall, having
issued apparently through one of the many doors. Her face was averted,
so that at first she was not aware of Miss Haldin.

On turning her head and seeing a stranger, she appeared very much
startled. From her slender figure Miss Haldin had taken her for a young
girl; but if her face was almost childishly round, it was also sallow
and wrinkled, with dark rings under the eyes. A thick crop of dusty
brown hair was parted boyishly on the side with a lateral wave above the
dry, furrowed forehead. After a moment of dumb blinking, she suddenly
squatted down on the floor.

"What do you mean by squatted down?" I asked, astonished. "This is a
very strange detail."

Miss Haldin explained the reason. This person when first seen was
carrying a small bowl in her hand. She had squatted down to put it
on the floor for the benefit of a large cat, which appeared then from
behind her skirts, and hid its head into the bowl greedily. She got up,
and approaching Miss Haldin asked with nervous bluntness--

"What do you want? Who are you?"

Miss Haldin mentioned her name and also the name of Peter Ivanovitch.
The girlish, elderly woman nodded and puckered her face into a momentary
expression of sympathy. Her black silk blouse was old and even frayed
in places; the black serge skirt was short and shabby. She continued to
blink at close quarters, and her eyelashes and eyebrows seemed shabby
too. Miss Haldin, speaking gently to her, as if to an unhappy and
sensitive person,