No answer.
After an interval, he went on, “Mrs. Hart, you, of course, will go in first. You must explain to her about Arthur, and induce her to see him. You can send word, or come back, when she’s ready to.”
With this, he opened the carriage door, dismounted, and helped Mrs. Hart to follow. Arthur remained behind. He closed his eyes for a little, and held his hands to his forehead. His hands were cold and damp. His forehead was now dry and hot; and he could count the pulsations of the arteries in his temples. His throat ached with a great lump. He mechanically watched the people pass on the sidewalk, and wondered whether any of them were as miserably unhappy as he. The myriad noises of the street smote his ears with a strange sharpness, and caused him from time to time to start and turn even paler than he had been. Gradually, however, he began to lose consciousness of outward things, and to think, think, think. He had plenty to think about. Pretty soon, he was fathoms deep in a brown study.
He was aroused by the reappearance of Hetzel and Mrs. Hart. They got into the carriage. The carriage moved.
“What—what is the trouble now?” Arthur asked.
“Damn them for a set of insolent scoundrels!”
Hetzel blurted out, forgetful of Mrs. Hart’s sex. “They wouldn’t let us in.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, they insist on a tangle of red-tape—say we must have passes, and so forth, from the district-attorney.”
“Well?”