I broke the silence by beginning a question on that point—
“I suppose Peter Ivanovitch....”
Miss Haldin gave vent to her indignation. Peter Ivanovitch directly he had got his answer from her had turned upon the dame de compagnie in a shameful manner.
“Turned upon her?” I wondered. “What about? For what reason?”
“It was unheard of; it was shameful,” Miss Haldin pursued, with angry eyes. “Il lui a fait une scene—like this, before strangers. And for what? You would never guess. For some eggs.... Oh!”
I was astonished. “Eggs, did you say?”
“For Madame de S—. That lady observes a special diet, or something of the sort. It seems she complained the day before to Peter Ivanovitch that the eggs were not rightly prepared. Peter Ivanovitch suddenly remembered this against the poor woman, and flew out at her. It was most astonishing. I stood as if rooted.”
“Do you mean to say that the great feminist allowed himself to be abusive to a woman?” I asked.
“Oh, not that! It was something you have no conception of. It was an odious performance. Imagine, he raised his hat to begin with. He made his voice soft and deprecatory. ‘Ah! you are not kind to us—you will not deign to remember....’ This sort of phrases, that sort of tone. The poor creature was terribly upset. Her eyes ran full of tears. She did not know where to look. I shouldn’t wonder if she would have preferred abuse, or even a blow.”
I did not remark that very possibly she was familiar with both on occasions when no one was by. Miss Haldin walked by my side, her head up in scornful and angry silence.