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diff --git a/21773-h/21773-h.htm b/21773-h/21773-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dca62ba --- /dev/null +++ b/21773-h/21773-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2376 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Four Meetings, by Henry James</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; +margin-right: 20%; +text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; +margin-top: 0.6em; +margin-bottom: 0.6em; +letter-spacing: 0.12em; +word-spacing: 0.2em; +text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; +margin-top: 0.25em; +margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Four Meetings, by Henry James</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Four Meetings</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Henry James</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 8, 2007 [eBook #21773]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 15, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR MEETINGS ***</div> + +<h1>FOUR MEETINGS</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Henry James</h2> + +<h3>1885</h3> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I saw her only four times, but I remember them vividly; she made an +impression upon me. I thought her very pretty and very interesting,—a +charming specimen of a type. I am very sorry to hear of her death; and +yet, when I think of it, why should I be sorry? The last time I saw her +she was certainly not—But I will describe all our meetings in order.I saw her only four times, but I remember them vividly; she made an impression +upon me. I thought her very pretty and very interesting,—a charming specimen of +a type. I am very sorry to hear of her death; and yet, when I think of it, why +should I be sorry? The last time I saw her she was certainly not—But I will +describe all our meetings in order. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001">I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002">II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0003">III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0004">IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0001"></a> +I.</h2> + +<p> +The first one took place in the country, at a little tea-party, one snowy +night. It must have been some seventeen years ago. My friend Latouche, going to +spend Christmas with his mother, had persuaded me to go with him, and the good +lady had given in our honor the entertainment of which I speak. To me it was +really entertaining; I had never been in the depths of New England at that +season. It had been snowing all day, and the drifts were knee-high. I wondered +how the ladies had made their way to the house; but I perceived that at +Grimwinter a conversazione offering the attraction of two gentlemen from New +York was felt to be worth an effort. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Latouche, in the course of the evening, asked me if I “didn’t want to” +show the photographs to some of the young ladies. The photographs were in a +couple of great portfolios, and had been brought home by her son, who, like +myself, was lately returned from Europe. I looked round and was struck with the +fact that most of the young ladies were provided with an object of interest +more absorbing than the most vivid sun-picture. But there was a person standing +alone near the mantelshelf, and looking round the room with a small gentle +smile which seemed at odds, somehow, with her isolation. I looked at her a +moment, and then said, “I should like to show them to that young lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Latouche, “she is just the person. She doesn’t care for +flirting; I will speak to her.” +</p> + +<p> +I rejoined that if she did not care for flirting, she was, perhaps, not just +the person; but Mrs. Latouche had already gone to propose the photographs to +her. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s delighted,” she said, coming back. “She is just the person, so quiet and +so bright.” And then she told me the young lady was, by name, Miss Caroline +Spencer, and with this she introduced me. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Caroline Spencer was not exactly a beauty, but she was a charming little +figure. She must have been close upon thirty, but she was made almost like a +little girl, and she had the complexion of a child. She had a very pretty head, +and her hair was arranged as nearly as possible like the hair of a Greek bust, +though indeed it was to be doubted if she had ever seen a Greek bust. She was +“artistic,” I suspected, so far as Grimwinter allowed such tendencies. She had +a soft, surprised eye, and thin lips, with very pretty teeth. Round her neck +she wore what ladies call, I believe, a “ruche,” fastened with a very small pin +in pink coral, and in her hand she carried a fan made of plaited straw and +adorned with pink ribbon. She wore a scanty black silk dress. She spoke with a +kind of soft precision, showing her white teeth between her narrow but +tender-looking lips, and she seemed extremely pleased, even a little fluttered, +at the prospect of my demonstrations. These went forward very smoothly, after I +had moved the portfolios out of their corner and placed a couple of chairs near +a lamp. The photographs were usually things I knew,—large views of Switzerland, +Italy, and Spain, landscapes, copies of famous buildings, pictures, and +statues. I said what I could about them, and my companion, looking at them as I +held them up, sat perfectly still, with her straw fan raised to her underlip. +Occasionally, as I laid one of the pictures down, she said very softly, “Have +you seen that place?” I usually answered that I had seen it several times (I +had been a great traveller), and then I felt that she looked at me askance for +a moment with her pretty eyes. I had asked her at the outset whether she had +been to Europe; to this she answered, “No, no, no,” in a little quick, +confidential whisper. But after that, though she never took her eyes off the +pictures, she said so little that I was afraid she was bored. Accordingly, +after we had finished one portfolio, I offered, if she desired it, to desist. I +felt that she was not bored, but her reticence puzzled me, and I wished to make +her speak. I turned round to look at her, and saw that there was a faint flush +in each of her cheeks. She was waving her little fan to and fro. Instead of +looking at me she fixed her eyes upon the other portfolio, which was leaning +against the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you show me that?” she asked, with a little tremor in her voice. I could +almost have believed she was agitated. +</p> + +<p> +“With pleasure,” I answered, “if you are not tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not tired,” she affirmed. “I like it—I love it.” +</p> + +<p> +And as I took up the other portfolio she laid her hand upon it, rubbing it +softly. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you been here too?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +On my opening the portfolio it appeared that I had been there. One of the first +photographs was a large view of the Castle of Chillon, on the Lake of Geneva. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” I said, “I have been many a time. Is it not beautiful?” And I pointed +to the perfect reflection of the rugged rocks and pointed towers in the clear +still water. She did not say, “Oh, enchanting!” and push it away to see the +next picture. She looked awhile, and then she asked if it was not where +Bonnivard, about whom Byron wrote, was confined. I assented, and tried to quote +some of Byron’s verses, but in this attempt I succeeded imperfectly. +</p> + +<p> +She fanned herself a moment, and then repeated the lines correctly, in a soft, +flat, and yet agreeable voice. By the time she had finished she was blushing. I +complimented her and told her she was perfectly equipped for visiting +Switzerland and Italy. She looked at me askance again, to see whether I was +serious, and I added, that if she wished to recognize Byron’s descriptions she +must go abroad speedily; Europe was getting sadly dis-Byronized. +</p> + +<p> +“How soon must I go?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I will give you ten years.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I can go within ten years,” she answered very soberly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I said, “you will enjoy it immensely; you will find it very charming.” +And just then I came upon a photograph of some nook in a foreign city which I +had been very fond of, and which recalled tender memories. I discoursed (as I +suppose) with a certain eloquence; my companion sat listening, breathless. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been <i>very</i> long in foreign lands?” she asked, some time after I +had ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“Many years,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you travelled everywhere?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have travelled a great deal. I am very fond of it; and, happily, I have been +able.” +</p> + +<p> +Again she gave me her sidelong gaze. “And do you know the foreign languages?” +</p> + +<p> +“After a fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it hard to speak them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you would find it hard,” I gallantly responded. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I shouldn’t want to speak; I should only want to listen,” she said. Then, +after a pause, she added, “They say the French theatre is so beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the best in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you go there very often?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I was first in Paris I went every night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every night!” And she opened her clear eyes very wide. “That to me is:—” and +she hesitated a moment—“is very wonderful.” A few minutes later she asked, +“Which country do you prefer?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is one country I prefer to all others. I think you would do the same.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me a moment, and then she said softly, “Italy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Italy,” I answered softly, too; and for a moment we looked at each other. She +looked as pretty as if, instead of showing her photographs, I had been making +love to her. To increase the analogy, she glanced away, blushing. There was a +silence, which she broke at last by saying,— +</p> + +<p> +“That is the place which, in particular, I thought of going to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s the place, that’s the place!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at two or three photographs in silence. “They say it is not so +dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“As some other countries? Yes, that is not the least of its charms.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is all very dear, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Europe, you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Going there and travelling. That has been the trouble. I have very little +money. I give lessons,” said Miss Spencer. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course one must have money,” I said, “but one can manage with a moderate +amount.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I should manage. I have laid something by, and I am always adding a +little to it. It’s all for that.” She paused a moment, and then went on with a +kind of suppressed eagerness, as if telling me the story were a rare, but a +possibly impure satisfaction, “But it has not been only the money; it has been +everything. Everything has been against it I have waited and waited. It has +been a mere castle in the air. I am almost afraid to talk about it. Two or +three times it has been a little nearer, and then I have talked about it and it +has melted away. I have talked about it too much,” she said hypocritically; for +I saw that such talking was now a small tremulous ecstasy. “There is a lady who +is a great friend of mine; she does n’t want to go; I always talk to her about +it. I tire her dreadfully. She told me once she didn’t know what would become +of me. I should go crazy if I did not go to Europe, and I should certainly go +crazy if I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I said, “you have not gone yet, and nevertheless you are not crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me a moment, and said, “I am not so sure. I don’t think of +anything else. I am always thinking of it. It prevents me from thinking of +things that are nearer home, things that I ought to attend to. That is a kind +of craziness.” +</p> + +<p> +“The cure for it is to go,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a faith that I shall go. I have a cousin in Europe!” she announced. +</p> + +<p> +We turned over some more photographs, and I asked her if she had always lived +at Grimwinter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, sir,” said Miss Spencer. “I have spent twenty-three months in Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +I answered, jocosely, that in that case foreign lands would probably prove a +disappointment to her; but I quite failed to alarm her. +</p> + +<p> +“I know more about them than you might think,” she said, with her shy, neat +little smile. “I mean by reading; I have read a great deal I have not only read +Byron; I have read histories and guidebooks. I know I shall like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand your case,” I rejoined. “You have the native American +passion,—the passion for the picturesque. With us, I think it is +primordial,—antecedent to experience. Experience comes and only shows us +something we have dreamt of.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that is very true,” said Caroline Spencer. “I have dreamt of +everything; I shall know it all!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid you have wasted a great deal of time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, that has been my great wickedness.” +</p> + +<p> +The people about us had begun to scatter; they were taking their leave. She got +up and put out her hand to me, timidly, but with a peculiar brightness in her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going back there,” I said, as I shook hands with her. “I shall look out +for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you,” she answered, “if I am disappointed.” +</p> + +<p> +And she went away, looking delicately agitated, and moving her little straw +fan. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0002"></a> +II.</h2> + +<p> +A few months after this I returned to Europe, and some three years elapsed. I +had been living in Paris, and, toward the end of October, I went from that city +to Havre, to meet my sister and her husband, who had written me that they were +about to arrive there. On reaching Havre I found that the steamer was already +in; I was nearly two hours late. I repaired directly to the hotel, where my +relatives were already established. My sister had gone to bed, exhausted and +disabled by her voyage; she was a sadly incompetent sailor, and her sufferings +on this occasion had been extreme. She wished, for the moment, for undisturbed +rest, and was unable to see me more than five minutes; so it was agreed that we +should remain at Havre until the next day. My brother-in-law, who was anxious +about his wife, was unwilling to leave her room; but she insisted upon his +going out with me to take a walk and recover his landlegs. The early autumn day +was warm and charming, and our stroll through the bright-colored, busy streets +of the old French seaport was sufficiently entertaining. We walked along the +sunny, noisy quays, and then turned into a wide, pleasant street, which lay +half in sun and half in shade—a French provincial street, that looked like an +old water-color drawing: tall, gray, steep-roofed, red-gabled, many-storied +houses; green shutters on windows and old scroll-work above them; flower-pots +in balconies, and white-capped women in doorways. We walked in the shade; all +this stretched away on the sunny side of the street and made a picture. We +looked at it as we passed along; then, suddenly, my brother-in-law stopped, +pressing my arm and staring. I followed his gaze and saw that we had paused +just before coming to a <i>café</i>, where, under an awning, several tables and +chairs were disposed upon the pavement The windows were open behind; half a +dozen plants in tubs were ranged beside the door; the pavement was besprinkled +with clean bran. It was a nice little, quiet, old-fashioned <i>café</i>; +inside, in the comparative dusk, I saw a stout, handsome woman, with pink +ribbons in her cap, perched up with a mirror behind her back, smiling at some +one who was out of sight. All this, however, I perceived afterwards; what I +first observed was a lady sitting alone, outside, at one of the little +marble-topped tables. My brother-in-law had stopped to look at her. There was +something on the little table, but she was leaning back quietly, with her hands +folded, looking down the street, away from us. I saw her only in something less +than profile; nevertheless, I instantly felt that I had seen her before. +</p> + +<p> +“The little lady of the steamer!” exclaimed my brother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“Was she on your steamer?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“From morning till night She was never sick. She used to sit perpetually at the +side of the vessel with her hands crossed that way, looking at the eastward +horizon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to speak to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know her. I never made acquaintance with her. I was too seedy. But I +used to watch her and—I don’t know why—to be interested in her. She’s a dear +little Yankee woman. I have an idea she is a schoolmistress taking a holiday, +for which her scholars have made up a purse.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her face a little more into profile, looking at the steep gray +house-fronts opposite to her. Then I said, “I shall speak to her myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would n’t; she is very shy,” said my brother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow, I know her. I once showed her photographs at a tea-party.” +</p> + +<p> +And I went up to her. She turned and looked at me, and I saw she was in fact +Miss Caroline Spencer. But she was not so quick to recognize me; she looked +startled. I pushed a chair to the table and sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I said, “I hope you are not disappointed!” +</p> + +<p> +She stared, blushing a little; then she gave a small jump which betrayed +recognition. +</p> + +<p> +“It was you who showed me the photographs, at Grimwinter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it was I. This happens very charmingly, for I feel as if it were for me +to give you a formal reception here, an official welcome. I talked to you so +much about Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t say too much. I am so happy!” she softly exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Very happy she looked. There was no sign of her being older; she was as +gravely, decently, demurely pretty as before. If she had seemed before a +thin-stemmed, mild-hued flower of Puritanism, it may be imagined whether in her +present situation this delicate bloom was less apparent. Beside her an old +gentleman was drinking absinthe; behind her the <i>dame de comptoir</i> in the +pink ribbons was calling “Alcibiade! Alcibiade!” to the long-aproned waiter. I +explained to Miss Spencer that my companion had lately been her shipmate, and +my brother-in-law came up and was introduced to her. But she looked at him as +if she had never seen him before, and I remembered that he had told me that her +eyes were always fixed upon the eastward horizon. She had evidently not noticed +him, and, still timidly smiling, she made no attempt whatever to pretend that +she had. I stayed with her at the <i>café</i> door, and he went back to the +hotel and to his wife. I said to Miss Spencer that this meeting of ours in the +first hour of her landing was really very strange, but that I was delighted to +be there and receive her first impressions. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can’t tell you,” she said; “I feel as if I were in a dream. I have been +sitting here for an hour, and I don’t want to move. Everything is so +picturesque. I don’t know whether the coffee has intoxicated me; it’s so +delicious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” said I, “if you are so pleased with this poor prosaic Havre, you will +have no admiration left for better things. Don’t spend your admiration all the +first day; remember it’s your intellectual letter of credit. Remember all the +beautiful places and things that are waiting for you; remember that lovely +Italy!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not afraid of running short,” she said gayly, still looking at the +opposite houses. “I could sit here all day, saying to myself that here I am at +last. It’s so dark and old and different.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” I inquired, “how come you to be sitting here? Have you not gone +to one of the inns?” For I was half amused, half alarmed, at the good +conscience with which this delicately pretty woman had stationed herself in +conspicuous isolation on the edge of the <i>trottoir</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“My cousin brought me here,” she answered. “You know I told you I had a cousin +in Europe. He met me at the steamer this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was hardly worth his while to meet you if he was to desert you so soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he has only left me for half an hour,” said Miss Spencer. “He has gone to +get my money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is your money?” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a little laugh. “It makes me feel very fine to tell you! It is in some +circular notes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where are your circular notes?” +</p> + +<p> +“In my cousin’s pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +This statement was very serenely uttered, but—I can hardly say why—it gave me a +sensible chill At the moment I should have been utterly unable to give the +reason of this sensation, for I knew nothing of Miss Spencer’s cousin. Since he +was her cousin, the presumption was in his favor. But I felt suddenly +uncomfortable at the thought that, half an hour after her landing, her scanty +funds should have passed into his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he to travel with you?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Only as far as Paris. He is an art-student, in Paris. I wrote to him that I +was coming, but I never expected him to come off to the ship. I supposed he +would only just meet me at the train in Paris. It is very kind of him. But he +<i>is</i> very kind, and very bright.” +</p> + +<p> +I instantly became conscious of an extreme curiosity to see this bright cousin +who was an art-student. +</p> + +<p> +“He is gone to the banker’s?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to the banker’s. He took me to a hotel, such a queer, quaint, delicious +little place, with a court in the middle, and a gallery all round, and a lovely +landlady, in such a beautifully fluted cap, and such a perfectly fitting dress! +After a while we came out to walk to the banker’s, for I haven’t got any French +money. But I was very dizzy from the motion of the vessel, and I thought I had +better sit down. He found this place for me here, and he went off to the +banker’s himself. I am to wait here till he comes back.” +</p> + +<p> +It may seem very fantastic, but it passed through my mind that he would never +come back. I settled myself in my chair beside Miss Spencer and determined to +await the event. She was extremely observant; there was something touching in +it. She noticed everything that the movement of the street brought before +us,—peculiarities of costume, the shapes of vehicles, the big Norman horses, +the fat priests, the shaven poodles. We talked of these things, and there was +something charming in her freshness of perception and the way her +book-nourished fancy recognized and welcomed everything. +</p> + +<p> +“And when your cousin comes back, what are you going to do?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated a moment. “We don’t quite know.” +</p> + +<p> +“When do you go to Paris? If you go by the four o’clock train, I may have the +pleasure of making the journey with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think we shall do that. My cousin thinks I had better stay here a few +days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said I; and for five minutes said nothing more. I was wondering what her +cousin was, in vulgar parlance, “up to.” I looked up and down the street, but +saw nothing that looked like a bright American art-student. At last I took the +liberty of observing that Havre was hardly a place to choose as one of the +æsthetic stations of a European tour. It was a place of convenience, nothing +more; a place of transit, through which transit should be rapid. I recommended +her to go to Paris by the afternoon train, and meanwhile to amuse herself by +driving to the ancient fortress at the mouth of the harbor,—that picturesque +circular structure which bore the name of Francis the First, and looked like a +small castle of St. Angelo. (It has lately been demolished.) +</p> + +<p> +She listened with much interest; then for a moment she looked grave. +</p> + +<p> +“My cousin told me that when he returned he should have something particular to +say to me, and that we could do nothing or decide nothing until I should have +heard it. But I will make him tell me quickly, and then we will go to the +ancient fortress. There is no hurry to get to Paris; there is plenty of time.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled with her softly severe little lips as she spoke those last words. +But I, looking at her with a purpose, saw just a tiny gleam of apprehension in +her eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me,” I said, “that this wretched man is going to give you bad +news!” +</p> + +<p> +“I suspect it is a little bad, but I don’t believe it is very bad. At any rate, +I must listen to it.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at her again an instant. “You didn’t come to Europe to listen,” I +said. “You came to see!” But now I was sure her cousin would come back; since +he had something disagreeable to say to her, he certainly would turn up. We sat +a while longer, and I asked her about her plans of travel She had them on her +fingers’ ends, and she told over the names with a kind of solemn distinctness: +from Paris to Dijon and to Avignon, from Avignon to Marseilles and the Cornice +road; thence to Genoa, to Spezia, to Pisa, to Florence, to Home. It apparently +had never occurred to her that there could be the least incommodity in her +travelling alone; and since she was unprovided with a companion I of course +scrupulously abstained from disturbing her sense of security. At last her +cousin came back. I saw him turn towards us out of a side street, and from the +moment my eyes rested upon him I felt that this was the bright American +art-student. He wore a slouch hat and a rusty black velvet jacket, such as I +had often encountered in the Rue Bonaparte. His shirt-collar revealed the +elongation of a throat which, at a distance, was not strikingly statuesque. He +was tall and lean; he had red hair and freckles. So much I had time to observe +while he approached the <i>café</i>, staring at me with natural surprise from +under his umbrageous coiffure. When he came up to us I immediately introduced +myself to him as an old acquaintance of Miss Spencer. He looked at me hard with +a pair of little red eyes, then he made me a solemn bow in the French fashion, +with his sombrero. +</p> + +<p> +“You were not on the ship?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I was not on the ship. I have been in Europe these three years.” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed once more, solemnly, and motioned me to be seated again. I sat down, +but it was only for the purpose of observing him an instant; I saw it was time +I should return to my sister. Miss Spencer’s cousin was a queer fellow. Nature +had not shaped him for a Raphaelesque or Byronic attire, and his velvet doublet +and naked neck were not in harmony with his facial attributes. His hair was +cropped close to his head; his ears were large and ill-adjusted to the same. He +had a lackadaisical carriage and a sentimental droop which were peculiarly at +variance with his keen, strange-colored eyes. Perhaps I was prejudiced, but I +thought his eyes treacherous. He said nothing for some time; he leaned his +hands on his cane and looked up and down the street Then at last, slowly +lifting his cane and pointing with it, “That’s a very nice bit,” he remarked, +softly. He had his head on one side, and his little eyes were half closed. I +followed the direction of his stick; the object it indicated was a red cloth +hung out of an old window. “Nice bit of color,” he continued; and without +moving his head he transferred his half-closed gaze to me. “Composes well,” he +pursued. “Make a nice thing.” He spoke in a hard vulgar voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you have a great deal of eye,” I replied. “Your cousin tells me you are +studying art.” He looked at me in the same way without answering, and I went on +with deliberate urbanity, “I suppose you are at the studio of one of those +great men.” +</p> + +<p> +Still he looked at me, and then he said softly, “Gérôme.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like it?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand French?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Some kinds,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +He kept his little eyes on me; then he said, “J’adore la peinture!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I understand that kind!” I rejoined. Miss Spencer laid her hand upon her +cousin’s arm with a little pleased and fluttered movement; it was delightful to +be among people who were on such easy terms with foreign tongues. I got up to +take leave, and asked Miss Spencer where, in Paris, I might have the honor of +waiting upon her. To what hotel would she go? +</p> + +<p> +She turned to her cousin inquiringly, and he honored me again with his little +languid leer. “Do you know the Hôtel des Princes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know where it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall take her there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I congratulate you,” I said to Caroline Spencer. “I believe it is the best inn +in the world; and in case I should still have a moment to call upon you here, +where are you lodged?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s such a pretty name,” said Miss Spencer gleefully. “À la Belle +Normande.” +</p> + +<p> +As I left them her cousin gave me a great flourish with his picturesque hat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0003"></a> +III.</h2> + +<p> +My sister, as it proved, was not sufficiently restored to leave Havre by the +afternoon train; so that, as the autumn dusk began to fall, I found myself at +liberty to call at the sign of the Fair Norman. I must confess that I had spent +much of the interval in wondering what the disagreeable thing was that my +charming friend’s disagreeable cousin had been telling her. The “Belle +Normande” was a modest inn in a shady bystreet, where it gave me satisfaction +to think Miss Spencer must have encountered local color in abundance. There was +a crooked little court, where much of the hospitality of the house was carried +on; there was a staircase climbing to bedrooms on the outer side of the wall; +there was a small trickling fountain with a stucco statuette in the midst of +it; there was a little boy in a white cap and apron cleaning copper vessels at +a conspicuous kitchen door; there was a chattering landlady, neatly laced, +arranging apricots and grapes into an artistic pyramid upon a pink plate. I +looked about, and on a green bench outside of an open door labelled <i>Salle à +Manger</i>, I perceived Caroline Spencer. No sooner had I looked at her than I +saw that something had happened since the morning. She was leaning back on her +bench, her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes were fixed upon the +landlady, at the other side of the court, manipulating her apricots. +</p> + +<p> +But I saw she was not thinking of apricots. She was staring absently, +thoughtfully; as I came near her I perceived that she had been crying. I sat +down on the bench beside her before she saw me; then, when she had done so, she +simply turned round, without surprise, and rested her sad eyes upon me. +Something very bad indeed had happened; she was completely changed. +</p> + +<p> +I immediately charged her with it. “Your cousin has been giving you bad news; +you are in great distress.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment she said nothing, and I supposed that she was afraid to speak, +lest her tears should come back. But presently I perceived that in the short +time that had elapsed since my leaving her in the morning she had shed them +all, and that she was now softly stoical, intensely composed. +</p> + +<p> +“My poor cousin is in distress,” she said at last. “His news was bad.” Then, +after a brief hesitation, “He was in terrible want of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“In want of yours, you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of any that he could get—honestly. Mine was the only money.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he has taken yours?” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated again a moment, but her glance, meanwhile, was pleading. “I gave +him what I had.” +</p> + +<p> +I have always remembered the accent of those words as the most angelic bit of +human utterance I had ever listened to; but then, almost with a sense of +personal outrage, I jumped up. “Good heavens!” I said, “do you call that +getting, it honestly?” +</p> + +<p> +I had gone too far; she blushed deeply. “We will not speak of it,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“We <i>must</i> speak of it,” I answered, sitting down again. “I am your +friend; it seems to me you need one. What is the matter with your cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is in debt.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt! But what is the special fitness of your paying his debts?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has told me all his story; I am very sorry for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I! But I hope he will give you back your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly he will; as soon as he can.” +</p> + +<p> +“When will that be?” +</p> + +<p> +“When he has finished his great picture.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young lady, confound his great picture! Where is this desperate +cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +She certainly hesitated now. Then,—“At his dinner,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +I turned about and looked through the open door into the <i>salle à manger</i>. +There, alone at the end of a long table, I perceived the object of Miss +Spencer’s compassion, the bright young art-student. He was dining too +attentively to notice me at first; but in the act of setting down a +well-emptied wineglass he caught sight of my observant attitude. He paused in +his repast, and, with his head on one side and his meagre jaws slowly moving, +fixedly returned my gaze. Then the landlady came lightly brushing by with her +pyramid of apricots. +</p> + +<p> +“And that nice little plate of fruit is for him?” I exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Spencer glanced at it tenderly. “They do that so prettily!” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +I felt helpless and irritated. “Come now, really,” I said; “do you approve of +that long strong fellow accepting your funds?” She looked away from me; I was +evidently giving her pain. The case was hopeless; the long strong fellow had +“interested” her. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me if I speak of him so unceremoniously,” I said. “But you are really +too generous, and he is not quite delicate enough. He made his debts himself; +he ought to pay them himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has been foolish,” she answered; “I know that. He has told me everything. +We had a long talk this morning; the poor fellow threw himself upon my charity. +He has signed notes to a large amount.” +</p> + +<p> +“The more fool he!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is in extreme distress; and it is not only himself. It is his poor wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, he has a poor wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know it; but he confessed everything. He married two years since, +secretly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why secretly?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline Spencer glanced about her, as if she feared listeners. Then softly, in +a little impressive tone,—“She was a countess!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you very sure of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“She has written me a most beautiful letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Asking you for money, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Asking me for confidence and sympathy,” said Miss Spencer. “She has been +disinherited by her father. My cousin told me the story, and she tells it in +her own way, in the letter. It is like an old romance. Her father opposed the +marriage, and when he discovered that she had secretly disobeyed him he cruelly +cast her off. It is really most romantic. They are the oldest family in +Provence.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked and listened in wonder. It really seemed that the poor woman was +enjoying the “romance” of having a discarded countess-cousin, out of Provence, +so deeply as almost to lose the sense of what the forfeiture of her money meant +for her. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young lady,” I said, “you don’t want to be ruined for picturesqueness’ +sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not be ruined. I shall come back before long to stay with them. The +Countess insists upon that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come back! You are going home, then?” +</p> + +<p> +She sat for a moment with her eyes lowered, then with an heroic suppression of +a faint tremor of the voice,—“I have no money for travelling!” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“You gave it <i>all</i> up?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have kept enough to take me home.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave an angry groan; and at this juncture Miss Spencer’s cousin, the +fortunate possessor of her sacred savings and of the hand of the Provençal +countess, emerged from the little dining-room. He stood on the threshold for an +instant, removing the stone from a plump apricot which he had brought away from +the table; then he put the apricot into his mouth, and while he let it sojourn +there, gratefully, stood looking at us, with his long legs apart and his hands +dropped into the pockets of his velvet jacket. My companion got up, giving him +a thin glance which I caught in its passage, and which expressed a strange +commixture of resignation and fascination,—a sort of perverted exaltation. +Ugly, vulgar, pretentious, dishonest, as I thought the creature, he had +appealed successfully to her eager and tender imagination. I was deeply +disgusted, but I had no warrant to interfere, and at any rate I felt that it +would be vain. +</p> + +<p> +The young man waved his hand with a pictorial gesture. “Nice old court,” he +observed. “Nice mellow old place. Good tone in that brick. Nice crooked old +staircase.” +</p> + +<p> +Decidedly, I could n’t stand it; without responding I gave my hand to Caroline +Spencer. She looked at me an instant with her little white face and expanded +eyes, and as she showed her pretty teeth I suppose she meant to smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be sorry for me,” she said, “I am very sure I shall see something of +this dear old Europe yet.” +</p> + +<p> +I told her that I would not bid her goodby; I should find a moment to come back +the next morning. Her cousin, who had put on his sombrero again, flourished it +off at me by way of a bow, upon which I took my departure. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning I came back to the inn, where I met in the court the landlady, +more loosely laced than in the evening. On my asking for Miss +Spencer,—“<i>Partie</i>, monsieu,” said the hostess. “She went away last night +at ten o’clock, with her—her—not her husband, eh?—in fine, her <i>monsieur</i>. +They went down to the American ship.” I turned away; the poor girl had been +about thirteen hours in Europe. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0004"></a> +IV.</h2> + +<p> +I myself, more fortunate, was there some five years longer. During this period +I lost my friend Latouche, who died of a malarious fever during a tour in the +Levant. One of the first things I did on my return was to go up to Grimwinter +to pay a consolatory visit to his poor mother. I found her in deep affliction, +and I sat with her the whole of the morning that followed my arrival (I had +come in late at night), listening to her tearful descant and singing the +praises of my friend. We talked of nothing else, and our conversation +terminated only with the arrival of a quick little woman who drove herself up +to the door in a “carryall,” and whom I saw toss the reins upon the horse’s +back with the briskness of a startled sleeper throwing back the bed-clothes. +She jumped out of the carryall and she jumped into the room. She proved to be +the minister’s wife and the great town-gossip, and she had evidently, in the +latter capacity, a choice morsel to communicate. I was as sure of this as I was +that poor Mrs. Latouche was not absolutely too bereaved to listen to her. It +seemed to me discreet to retire; I said I believed I would go and take a walk +before dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“And, by the way,” I added, “if you will tell me where my old friend Miss +Spencer lives, I will walk to her house.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister’s wife immediately responded. Miss Spencer lived in the fourth +house beyond the “Baptist church; the Baptist church was the one on the right, +with that queer green thing over the door; they called it a portico, but it +looked more like an old-fashioned bedstead. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do go and see poor Caroline,” said Mrs. Latouche. “It will refresh her to +see a strange face.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think she had had enough of strange faces!” cried the minister’s +wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, to see a visitor,” said Mrs. Latouche, amending her phrase. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think she had had enough of visitors!” her companion rejoined. “But +<i>you</i> don’t mean to stay ten years,” she added, glancing at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Has she a visitor of that sort?” I inquired, perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“You will see the sort!” said the minister’s wife. “She’s easily seen; she +generally sits in the front yard. Only take care what you say to her, and be +very sure you are polite.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, she is so sensitive?” +</p> + +<p> +The minister’s wife jumped up and dropped me a curtsey, a most ironical +curtsey. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what she is, if you please. She’s a countess!” +</p> + +<p> +And pronouncing this word with the most scathing accent, the little woman +seemed fairly to laugh in the Countess’s face. I stood a moment, staring, +wondering, remembering. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I shall be very polite!” I cried; and grasping my hat and stick, I went on +my way. +</p> + +<p> +I found Miss Spencer’s residence without difficulty. The Baptist church was +easily identified, and the small dwelling near it, of a rusty white, with a +large central chimney-stack and a Virginia creeper, seemed naturally and +properly the abode of a frugal old maid with a taste for the picturesque. As I +approached I slackened my pace, for I had heard that some one was always +sitting in the front yard, and I wished to reconnoitre. I looked cautiously +over the low white fence which separated the small garden-space from the +unpaved street; but I descried nothing in the shape of a countess. A small +straight path led up to the crooked doorstep, and on either side of it was a +little grass-plot, fringed with currant-bushes. In the middle of the grass, on +either side, was a large quince-tree, full of antiquity and contortions, and +beneath one of the quince-trees were placed a small table and a couple of +chairs. On the table lay a piece of unfinished embroidery and two or three +books in bright-colored paper covers. I went in at the gate and paused halfway +along the path, scanning the place for some farther token of its occupant, +before whom—I could hardly have said why—I hesitated abruptly to present +myself. Then I saw that the poor little house was very shabby. I felt a sudden +doubt of my right to intrude; for curiosity had been my motive, and curiosity +here seemed singularly indelicate. While I hesitated, a figure appeared in the +open doorway and stood there looking at me. I immediately recognized Caroline +Spencer, but she looked at me as if she had never seen me before. Gently, but +gravely and timidly, I advanced to the doorstep, and then I said, with an +attempt at friendly badinage,— +</p> + +<p> +“I waited for you over there to come back, but you never came.” +</p> + +<p> +“Waited where, sir?” she asked softly, and her light-colored eyes expanded more +than before. +</p> + +<p> +She was much older; she looked tired and wasted. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I said, “I waited at Havre.” +</p> + +<p> +She stared; then she recognized me. She smiled and blushed and clasped her two +hands together. “I remember you now,” she said. “I remember that day.” But she +stood there, neither coming out nor asking me to come in. She was embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +I, too, felt a little awkward. I poked my stick into the path. “I kept looking +out for you, year after year,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean in Europe?” murmured Miss Spencer. +</p> + +<p> +“In Europe, of course! Here, apparently, you are easy enough to find.” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned her hand against the unpainted doorpost, and her head fell a little +to one side. She looked at me for a moment without speaking, and I thought I +recognized the expression that one sees in women’s eyes when tears are rising. +Suddenly she stepped out upon the cracked slab of stone before the threshold +and closed the door behind her. Then she began to smile intently, and I saw +that her teeth were as pretty as ever. But there had been tears too. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been there ever since?” she asked, almost in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Until three weeks ago. And you—you never came back?” +</p> + +<p> +Still looking at me with her fixed smile, she put her hand behind her and +opened the door again. “I am not very polite,” she said. “Won’t you come in?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid I incommode you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” she answered, smiling more than ever. And she pushed back the door, +with a sign that I should enter. +</p> + +<p> +I went in, following her. She led the way to a small room on the left of the +narrow hall, which I supposed to be her parlor, though it was at the back of +the house, and we passed the closed door of another apartment which apparently +enjoyed a view of the quince-trees. This one looked out upon a small woodshed +and two clucking hens. But I thought it very pretty, until I saw that its +elegance was of the most frugal kind; after which, presently, I thought it +prettier still, for I had never seen faded chintz and old mezzotint engravings, +framed in varnished autumn leaves, disposed in so graceful a fashion. Miss +Spencer sat down on a very small portion of the sofa, with her hands tightly +clasped in her lap. She looked ten years older, and it would have sounded very +perverse now to speak of her as pretty. But I thought her so; or at least I +thought her touching. She was peculiarly agitated. I tried to appear not to +notice it; but suddenly, in the most inconsequent fashion,—it was an +irresistible memory of our little friendship at Havre,—I said to her, “I do +incommode you. You are distressed.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her two hands to her face, and for a moment kept it buried in them. +Then, taking them away,—“It’s because you remind me—” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I remind you, you mean, of that miserable day at Havre?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “It was not miserable. It was delightful.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never was so shocked as when, on going back to your inn the next morning, I +found you had set sail again.” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent a moment; and then she said, “Please let us not speak of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you come straight back here?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I was back here just thirty days after I had gone away.” +</p> + +<p> +“And here you have remained ever since?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” she said gently. +</p> + +<p> +“When are you going to Europe again?” +</p> + +<p> +This question seemed brutal; but there was something that irritated me in the +softness of her resignation, and I wished to extort from her some expression of +impatience. +</p> + +<p> +She fixed her eyes for a moment upon a small sunspot on the carpet; then she +got up and lowered the window-blind a little, to obliterate it. Presently, in +the same mild voice, answering my question, she said, “Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope your cousin repaid you your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care for it now,” she said, looking away from me. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t care for your money?” +</p> + +<p> +“For going to Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that you would not go if you could?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t—I can’t,” said Caroline Spencer. “It is all over; I never think of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never repaid you, then!” I exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Please—please,” she began. +</p> + +<p> +But she stopped; she was looking toward the door. There had been a rustling aud +a sound of steps in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +I also looked toward the door, which was open, and now admitted another person, +a lady, who paused just within the threshold. Behind her came a young man. The +lady looked at me with a good deal of fixedness, long enough for my glance to +receive a vivid impression of herself. Then she turned to Caroline Spencer, +and, with a smile and a strong foreign accent,— +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse my interruption!” she said. “I knew not you had company, the gentleman +came in so quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +With this she directed her eyes toward me again. +</p> + +<p> +She was very strange; yet my first feeling was that I had seen her before. Then +I perceived that I had only seen ladies who were very much like her. But I had +seen them very far away from Grimwinter, and it was an odd sensation to be +seeing her here. Whither was it the sight of her seemed to transport me? To +some dusky landing before a shabby Parisian <i>quatrième</i>,—to an open door +revealing a greasy antechamber, and to Madame leaning over the banisters, while +she holds a faded dressing-gown together and bawls down to the portress to +bring up her coffee. Miss Spencer’s visitor was a very large woman, of middle +age, with a plump, dead-white face, and hair drawn back <i>a la chinoise</i>. +She had a small penetrating eye, and what is called in French an agreeable +smile. She wore an old pink cashmere dressing-gown, covered with white +embroideries, and, like the figure in my momentary vision, she was holding it +together in front with a bare and rounded arm and a plump and deeply dimpled +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It is only to spick about my <i>café</i>,” she said to Miss Spencer, with her +agreeable smile. “I should like it served in the garden under the leetle tree.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man behind her had now stepped into the room, and he also stood +looking at me. He was a pretty-faced little fellow, with an air of provincial +foppishness,—a tiny Adonis of Grimwinter. He had a small pointed nose, a small +pointed chin, and, as I observed, the most diminutive feet. He looked at me +foolishly, with his mouth open. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall have your coffee,” said Miss Spencer, who had a faint red spot in +each of her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“It is well!” said the lady in the dressing-gown. “Find your bouk,” she added, +turning to the young man. +</p> + +<p> +He gazed vaguely round the room. “My grammar, d’ye mean?” he asked, with a +helpless intonation. +</p> + +<p> +But the large lady was inspecting me, curiously, and gathering in her +dressing-gown with her white arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Find your bouk, my friend,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“My poetry, d’ye mean?” said the young man, also staring at me again. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind your bouk,” said his companion. “To-day we will talk. We will make +some conversation. But we must not interrupt. Come;” and she turned away. +“Under the leetle tree,” she added, for the benefit of Miss Spencer. +</p> + +<p> +Then she gave me a sort of salutation, and a “Monsieur!” with which she swept +away again, followed by the young man. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline Spencer stood there with her eyes fixed upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The Countess, my cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who is the young man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her pupil, Mr. Mixter.” +</p> + +<p> +This description of the relation between the two persons who had just left the +room made me break into a little laugh. Miss Spencer looked at me gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“She gives French lessons; she has lost her fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” I said. “She is determined to be a burden to no one. That is very +proper.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Spencer looked down on the ground again, “I must go and get the coffee,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Has the lady many pupils?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“She has only Mr. Mixter. She gives all her time to him.” +</p> + +<p> +At this I could not laugh, though I smelt provocation; Miss Spencer was too +grave. “He pays very well,” she presently added, with simplicity. “He is very +rich. He is very kind. He takes the Countess to drive.” And she was turning +away. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going for the Countess’s coffee?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will excuse me a few moments.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there no one else to do it?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me with the softest serenity. “I keep no servants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can she not wait upon herself?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not used to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said I, as gently as possible. “But before you go, tell me this: who +is this lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you about her before—that day. She is the wife of my cousin, whom you +saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“The lady who was disowned by her family in consequence of her marriage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; they have never seen her again. They have cast her off.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is her husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is your money?” +</p> + +<p> +The poor girl flinched; there was something too consistent in my questions. “I +don’t know,” she said wearily. +</p> + +<p> +But I continued a moment. “On her husband’s death this lady came over here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she arrived one day.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two years.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has been here ever since?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“How does she like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how do <i>you</i> like it?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Spencer laid her face in her two hands an instant, as she had done ten +minutes before. +</p> + +<p> +Then, quickly, she went to get the Countess’s coffee. +</p> + +<p> +I remained alone in the little parlor; I wanted to see more, to learn more. At +the end of five minutes the young man whom Miss Spencer had described as the +Countess’s pupil came in. He stood looking at me for a moment with parted lips. +I saw he was a very rudimentary young man. +</p> + +<p> +“She wants to know if you won’t come out there,” he observed at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Who wants to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Countess. That French lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has asked you to bring me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said the young man feebly, looking at my six feet of stature. +</p> + +<p> +I went out with him, and we found the Countess sitting under one of the little +quince-trees in front of the house. She was drawing a needle through the piece +of embroidery which she had taken from the small table. She pointed graciously +to the chair beside her, and I seated myself. Mr. Mixter glanced about him, and +then sat down in the grass at her feet. He gazed upward, looking with parted +lips from the Countess to me. “I am sure you speak French,” said the Countess, +fixing her brilliant little eyes upon me. +</p> + +<p> +“I do, madam, after a fashion,” I answered in the lady’s own tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Voilà!</i>” she cried most expressively. “I knew it so soon as I looked at +you. You have been in my poor dear country.” +</p> + +<p> +“A long time.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know Paris?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thoroughly, madam.” And with a certain conscious purpose I let my eyes meet +her own. +</p> + +<p> +She presently, hereupon, moved her own and glanced down at Mr. Mixter “What are +we talking about?” she demanded of her attentive pupil. +</p> + +<p> +He pulled his knees up, plucked at the grass with his hand, stared, blushed a +little. “You are talking French,” said Mr. Mixter. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>La belle découverte!</i>” said the Countess. “Here are ten months,” she +explained to me, “that I am giving him lessons. Don’t put yourself out not to +say he’s an idiot; he won’t understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope your other pupils are more gratifying,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no others. They don’t know what French is in this place; they don’t +want to know. You may therefore imagine the pleasure it is to me to meet a +person who speaks it like yourself.” I replied that my own pleasure was not +less; and she went on drawing her stitches through her embroidery, with her +little finger curled out. Every few moments she put her eyes close to her work, +nearsightedly. I thought her a very disagreeable person; she was coarse, +affected, dishonest, and no more a countess than I was a caliph. “Talk to me of +Paris,” she went on. “The very name of it gives me an emotion! How long since +you were there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two months ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Happy man! Tell me something about it What were they doing? Oh, for an hour of +the boulevard!” +</p> + +<p> +“They were doing about what they are always doing,—amusing themselves a good +deal.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the theatres, eh?” sighed the Countess. “At the <i>cafés-concerts</i>, at +the little tables in front of the doors? <i>Quelle existence!</i> You know I am +a Parisienne, monsieur,” she added, “to my fingertips.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Spencer was mistaken, then,” I ventured to rejoin, “in telling me that +you are a Provençale.” +</p> + +<p> +She stared a moment, then she put her nose to her embroidery, which had a +dingy, desultory aspect. “Ah, I am a Provençale by birth; but I am a Parisienne +by—inclination.” +</p> + +<p> +“And by experience, I suppose?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She questioned me a moment with her hard little eyes. “Oh, experience! I could +talk of experience if I wished. I never expected, for example, that experience +had <i>this</i> in store for me.” And she pointed with her bare elbow, and with +a jerk of her head, at everything that surrounded her,—at the little white +house, the quince-tree, the rickety paling, even at Mr. Mixter. +</p> + +<p> +“You are in exile!” I said, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“You may imagine what it is! These two years that I have been here I have +passed hours—hours! One gets used to things, and sometimes I think I have got +used to this. But there are some things that are always beginning over again. +For example, my coffee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you always have coffee at this hour?” I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +She tossed back her head and measured me. +</p> + +<p> +“At what hour would you prefer me to have it? I must have my little cup after +breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you breakfast at this hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“At midday—<i>comme cela se fait</i>. Here they breakfast at a quarter past +seven! That ‘quarter past’ is charming!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you were telling me about your <i>coffee?</i> I observed sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“My <i>cousine</i> can’t believe in it; she can’t understand it. She’s an +excellent girl; but that little cup of black coffee, with a drop of cognac, +served at this hour,—they exceed her comprehension. So I have to break the ice +every day, and it takes the coffee the time you see to arrive. And when it +arrives, monsieur! If I don’t offer you any of it you must not take it ill. It +will be because I know you have drunk it on the boulevard.” +</p> + +<p> +I resented extremely this scornful treatment of poor Caroline Spencer’s humble +hospitality; but I said nothing, in order to say nothing uncivil. I only looked +on Mr. Mixter, who had clasped his arms round his knees and was watching my +companion’s demonstrative graces in solemn fascination. She presently saw that +I was observing him; she glanced at me with a little bold explanatory smile. +“You know, he adores me,” she murmured, putting her nose into her tapestry +again. I expressed the promptest credence, and she went on. “He dreams of +becoming my lover! Yes, it’s his dream. He has read a French novel; it took him +six months. But ever since that he has thought himself the hero, and me the +heroine!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mixter had evidently not an idea that he was being talked about; he was too +preoccupied with the ecstasy of contemplation. At this moment Caroline Spencer +came out of the house, bearing a coffee-pot on a little tray. I noticed that on +her way from the door to the table she gave me a single quick, vaguely +appealing glance. I wondered what it signified; I felt that it signified a sort +of half-frightened longing to know what, as a man of the world who had been in +France, I thought of the Countess. It made me extremely uncomfortable. I could +not tell her that the Countess was very possibly the runaway wife of a little +hair-dresser. I tried suddenly, on the contrary, to show a high consideration +for her. But I got up; I could n’t stay longer. It vexed me to see Caroline +Spencer standing there like a waiting-maid. +</p> + +<p> +“You expect to remain some time at Grimwinter?” I said to the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +She gave a terrible shrug. +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows? Perhaps for years. When one is in misery!—<i>Chere belle</i>” she +added, turning to Miss Spencer, “you have forgotten the cognac!” +</p> + +<p> +I detained Caroline Spencer as, after looking a moment in silence at the little +table, she was turning away to procure this missing delicacy. I silently gave +her my hand in farewell. She looked very tired, but there was a strange hint of +prospective patience in her severely mild little face. I thought she was rather +glad I was going. Mr. Mixter had risen to his feet and was pouring out the +Countess’s coffee. As I went back past the Baptist church I reflected that poor +Miss Spencer had been right in her presentiment that she should still see +something of that dear old Europe. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR MEETINGS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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