of the sofa like a wooden figure. The immovable peevishness of
the face, framed in the limp, rusty lace, had a character of cruelty.

"As to extirpating," she croaked at the attentive Razumov, "there is
only one class in Russia which must be extirpated. Only one. And that
class consists of only one family. You understand me? That one family
must be extirpated."

Her rigidity was frightful, like the rigor of a corpse galvanized into
harsh speech and glittering stare by the force of murderous hate. The
sight fascinated Razumov--yet he felt more self-possessed than at
any other time since he had entered this weirdly bare room. He was
interested. But the great feminist by his side again uttered his
appeal--

"Eleanor!"

She disregarded it. Her carmine lips vaticinated with an extraordinary
rapidity. The liberating spirit would use arms before which rivers would
part like Jordan, and ramparts fall down like the walls of Jericho. The
deliverance from bondage would be effected by plagues and by signs, by
wonders and by war. The women....

"Eleanor!"

She ceased; she had heard him at last. She pressed her hand to her
forehead.

"What is it? Ah yes! That girl--the sister of...."

It was Miss Haldin that she meant. That young girl and her mother had
been leading a very retired life. They were provincial ladies--were they
not? The mother had been very beautiful--traces were left yet. Peter
Ivanovitch, when he called there for the first time, was greatly
struck....But the cold way they received him was really surprising.

"He is one of our national glories," Madams de S-- cried out, with
sudden vehemence. "All the world listens to him."

"I don't know these ladies," said Razumov loudly rising from his chair.

"What are you saying, Kirylo Sidorovitch? I understand that she was
talking to you here, in the garden, the other day."

"Yes, in the garden," said Razumov gloomily. Then, with an effort, "She
made herself known to me."

"And then ran away from us all," Madame de S-- continued, with ghastly
vivacity. "After coming to the very door! What a peculiar proceeding!
Well, I have been a shy little provincial girl at one time. Yes,
Razumov" (she fell into this familiarity intentionally, with an
appalling grimace of graciousness. Razumov gave a perceptible start),
"yes, that's my origin. A simple provincial family.

"You are a marvel," Peter Ivanovich uttered.

But it was to Razumov that she gave her death's-head smil