Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume X).djvu/220

Rh patronising. . . something unnerving. Those eyes I had not seen in the dream. A strange face was the baron's! Faded, fatigued, and, at the same time, young-looking — unpleasantly young-looking! My 'dream-father' had not the deep scar either which ran slanting right across my new acquaintance's forehead, and which I had not noticed till I came closer to him. I had hardly told the baron the name of the street, and the number of the house in which we were living, when a tall negro, swathed up to the eyebrows in a cloak, came up to him from behind, and softly tapped him on the shoulder. The baron turned round, ejaculated, 'Aha ! at last!' and with a slight nod to me, went with the negro into the cafe. I was left under the awning; I meant to await the baron's return, not so much with the object of entering into conversation with him again (I really did not know what to talk about to him), as to verify once more my first impression. But half-an-hour passed, an hour passed. . . . The baron did not appear. I went into the cafe, passed through all the rooms, but could see nowhere the baron or the negro. . . . They must both have gone out by a back-door. My head ached a little, and to get a little fresh air, I walked along the seafront to a large