Perhaps she had guessed it, said Isabel.
Dont say that; I should be disgusted if I believed that. I thought it would be just a little shock; but the way she took it proves that her good manners are paramount. Thats also what I wished. You shall see for yourself; to-morrow she shall make you her congratulations in person.
The meeting, on the morrow, took place at the Countess Geminis, whither Pansy had been conducted by her father, who knew that Isabel was to come in the afternoon to return a visit made her by the Countess on learning that they were to become sisters-in-law. Calling at Casa Touchett the visitor had not found Isabel at home; but after our young woman had been ushered into the Countesss drawing-room Pansy arrived to say that her aunt would presently appear. Pansy was spending the day with that lady, who thought her of an age to begin to learn how to carry herself in company. It was Isabels view that the little girl might have given lessons in deportment to her relative, and nothing could have justified this conviction more than the manner in which Pansy acquitted herself while they waited together for the Countess. Her fathers decision, the year before, had finally been to send her back to the convent to receive the last graces, and Madame Catherine had evidently carried out her theory that Pansy was to be fitted for the great world.
Papa has told me that youve kindly consented to marry him, said this excellent womans pupil. Its very delightful; I think youll suit very well.
You think I shall suit you?
Youll suit me beautifully; but what I mean is that you and papa will suit each other. Youre both so quiet and so serious. Youre not so quiet as heor even as Madame Merle; but youre more quiet than many others. He should not for instance have a wife like my aunt. Shes always in motion, in agitationto-day especially; youll see when she comes in. They told us at the convent it was wrong to judge our elders, but I suppose theres no harm if we judge them favourably. Youll be a delightful companion for papa.
For you too, I hope, Isabel said.
I speak first of him on purpose. Ive told you already what I myself think of you; I liked you from the first. I admire you so much that I think it will be a good fortune to have you always before me. Youll be my model; I shall try to imitate you though Im afraid it will be very feeble. Im very glad for papahe needed something more than me. Without you I dont see how he could have got it. Youll be my stepmother, but we mustnt use that word. Theyre always said to be cruel; but I dont think youll ever so much as pinch or even push me. Im not afraid at all.
My good little Pansy, said Isabel gently, I shall be ever so kind to you. A vague, inconsequent vision of her coming in some odd way to need it had intervened with the effect of a chill.
Very well then, Ive nothing to fear, the child returned with her note of prepared promptitude. What teaching she had had, it seemed to suggestor what penalties for non-performance she dreaded!
Her description of her aunt had not been incorrect; the Countess Gemini was further than ever from having folded her wings. She entered the room with a flutter through the air and kissed Isabel first on the forehead and then on each cheek as if according to some ancient prescribed rite. She drew the visitor to a sofa and, looking at her with a variety of turns of the head, began to talk very much as if, seated brush in hand before an easel, she were applying a series of considered touches to a composition of figures already sketched in. If you expect me to congratulate you I must beg you to excuse me. I dont suppose you care if I do or not; I believe youre supposed not to carethrough being so cleverfor all sorts of ordinary things. But I care myself if I tell fibs; I never tell them unless theres something rather good to be gained. I dont see whats to be gained with youespecially as you wouldnt believe me. I dont make professions any more than I make paper flowers or flouncey lampshadesI dont know how. My lampshades would be sure to take fire, my roses and my fibs to be larger than life. Im very glad for my own sake that youre to marry Osmond; but I wont pretend Im glad for yours. Youre very brilliantyou know thats the way youre always spoken of; youre an heiress and very good-looking and original, not banal; so its a good thing to have you in the family. Our familys very good, you know; Osmond will have told you that; and my mother was rather distinguishedshe was called the American Corinne. But were dreadfully fallen, I think, and perhaps youll pick us up. Ive great confidence in you; there are ever so many things I want to talk to you about. I never congratulate any girl on marrying; I think they ought to make it somehow not quite so awful a steel trap. I suppose Pansy oughtnt to hear all this; but thats what she has come to me forto acquire the tone of society. Theres no harm in her knowing what horrors she may be in for. When first I got an idea that my brother had designs on you I thought of writing to you, to recommend you, in the strongest terms, not to listen to him. Then I thought it would be disloyal, and I hate anything of that kind. Besides, as I say, I was enchanted for myself; and after all Im very selfish. By the way, you wont respect me, not one little mite, and we shall never be intimate. I should like it, but you wont. Some day, all the same, we shall be better friends than you will believe at first. My husband will come and see you, though, as you probably know, hes on no sort of terms with Osmond. Hes very fond of going to see pretty women, but Im not afraid of you. In the first place I dont care what he does. In the second, you wont care a straw for him; he wont be a bit, at any time, your affair, and, stupid as he is, hell see youre not his. Some day, if you can stand it, Ill tell you all about him. Do you think my niece ought to go out of the room? Pansy, go and practise a little in my boudoir.
Let her stay, please, said Isabel. I would rather hear nothing that Pansy may not!
CHAPTER XXXVI
One afternoon of the autumn of 1876, toward dusk, a young man of pleasing appearance rang at the door of a small apartment on the third floor of an old Roman house. On its being opened he enquired for Madame Merle; whereupon the servant, a neat, plain woman, with a French face and a ladys maids manner, ushered him into a diminutive drawing-room and requested the favour of his name. Mr. Edward Rosier, said the young man, who sat down to wait till his hostess should appear.
The reader will perhaps not have forgotten that Mr. Rosier was an ornament of the American circle in Paris, but it may also be remembered that he sometimes vanished from its horizon. He had spent a portion of several winters at Pau, and as he was a gentleman of constituted habits he might have continued for years to pay his annual visit to this charming resort. In the summer of 1876, however, an incident befell him which changed the current not only of his thoughts, but of his customary sequences. He passed a month in the Upper Engadine and encountered at Saint Moritz a charming young girl. To this little person he began to pay, on the spot, particular attention: she struck him as exactly the household angel he had long been looking for. He was never precipitate, he was nothing if not discreet, so he forbore for the present to declare his passion; but it seemed to him when they partedthe young lady to go down into Italy and her admirer to proceed to Geneva, where he was under bonds to join other friendsthat he should be romantically wretched if he were not to see her again. The simplest way to do so was to go in the autumn to Rome, where Miss Osmond was domiciled with her family. Mr. Rosier started on his pilgrimage to the Italian capital and reached it on the first of November. It was a pleasant thing to do, but for the young man there was a strain of the heroic in the enterprise. He might expose himself, unseasoned, to the poison of the Roman air, which in November lay, notoriously, much in wait. Fortune, however, favours the brave; and this adventurer, who took three grains of quinine a day, had at the end of a month no cause to deplore his temerity. He had made to a certain extent good use of his time; he had devoted it in vain to finding a flaw in Pansy Osmonds composition. She was admirably finished; she had had the last touch; she was really a consummate piece. He thought of her in amorous meditation a good deal as he might have thought of a Dresden-china shepherdess. Miss Osmond, indeed, in the bloom of her juvenility, had a hint of the rococo which Rosier, whose taste was predominantly for that manner, could not fail to appreciate. That he esteemed the productions of comparatively frivolous periods would have been apparent from the attention he bestowed upon Madame Merles drawing-room, which, although furnished with specimens of every style, was especially rich in articles of the last two centuries. He had immediately put a glass into one eye and looked round; and then By Jove, she has some jolly good things! he had yearningly murmured. The room was small and densely filled with furniture; it gave an impression of faded silk and little statuettes which might totter if one moved. Rosier got up and wandered about with his careful tread, bending over the tables charged with knick-knacks and the cushions embossed with princely arms. When Madame Merle came in she found him standing before the fireplace with his nose very close to the great lace flounce attached to the damask cover of the mantel. He had lifted it delicately, as if he were smelling it.
Its old Venetian, she said; its rather good.
Its too good for this; you ought to wear it.
They tell me you have some better in Paris, in the same situation.
Ah, but I cant wear mine, smiled the visitor.
I dont see why you shouldnt! Ive better lace than that to wear.
His eyes wandered, lingeringly, round the room again. Youve some very good things.
Yes, but I hate them.
Do you want to get rid of them? the young man quickly asked.
No, its good to have something to hate: one works it off!
I love my things, said Mr. Rosier as he sat there flushed with all his recognitions. But its not about them, nor about yours, that I came to talk to you. He paused a moment and then, with greater softness: I care more for Miss Osmond than for all the bibelots in Europe!
Madame Merle opened wide eyes. Did you come to tell me that?
I came to ask your advice.
She looked at him with a friendly frown, stroking her chin with her large white hand. A man in love, you know, doesnt ask advice.
Why not, if hes in a difficult position? Thats often the case with a man in love. Ive been in love before, and I know. But never so much as this timereally never so much. I should like particularly to know what you think of my prospects. Im afraid that for Mr. Osmond Im notwell, a real collectors piece.
Do you wish me to intercede? Madame Merle asked with her fine arms folded and her handsome mouth drawn up to the left.
If you could say a good word for me I should be greatly obliged. There will be no use in my troubling Miss Osmond unless I have good reason to believe her father will consent.
Youre very considerate; thats in your favour. But you assume in rather an off-hand way that I think you a prize.
Youve been very kind to me, said the young man. Thats why I came.
Im always kind to people who have good Louis Quatorze. Its very rare now, and theres no telling what one may get by it. With which the left-hand corner of Madame Merles mouth gave expression to the joke.
But he looked, in spite of it, literally apprehensive and consistently strenuous. Ah, I thought you liked me for myself!
I like you very much; but, if you please, we wont analyse. Pardon me if I seem patronising, but I think you a perfect little gentleman. I must tell you, however, that Ive not the marrying of Pansy Osmond.
I didnt suppose that. But youve seemed to me intimate with her family, and I thought you might have influence.
Madame Merle considered. Whom do you call her family?
Why, her father; andhow do you say it in English?her belle-mere.
Mr. Osmonds her father, certainly; but his wife can scarcely be termed a member of her family. Mrs. Osmond has nothing to do with marrying her.
Im sorry for that, said Rosier with an amiable sigh of good faith. I think Mrs. Osmond would favour me.
Very likelyif her husband doesnt.
He raised his eyebrows. Does she take the opposite line from him?
In everything. They think quite differently.
Well, said Rosier, Im sorry for that; but its none of my business. Shes very fond of Pansy.
Yes, shes very fond of Pansy.
And Pansy has a great affection for her. She has told me how she loves her as if she were her own mother.
You must, after all, have had some very intimate talk with the poor child, said Madame Merle. Have you declared your sentiments?
Never! cried Rosier, lifting his neatly-gloved hand. Never till Ive assured myself of those of the parents.
You always wait for that? Youve excellent principles; you observe the proprieties.
I think youre laughing at me, the young man murmured, dropping back in his chair and feeling his small moustache. I didnt expect that of you, Madame Merle.
She shook her head calmly, like a person who saw things as she saw them. You dont do me justice. I think your conduct in excellent taste and the best you could adopt. Yes, thats what I think.
I wouldnt agitate heronly to agitate her; I love her too much for that, said Ned Rosier.
Im glad, after all, that youve told me, Madame Merle went on. Leave it to me a little; I think I can help you.
I said you were the person to come to! her visitor cried with prompt elation.
You were very clever, Madame Merle returned more dryly. When I say I can help you I mean once assuming your cause to be good. Let us think a little if it is.
Im awfully decent, you know, said Rosier earnestly. I wont say Ive no faults, but Ill say Ive no vices.
All thats negative, and it always depends, also, on what people call vices. Whats the positive side? Whats the virtuous? What have you got besides your Spanish lace and your Dresden teacups?
Ive a comfortable little fortuneabout forty thousand francs a year. With the talent I have for arranging, we can live beautifully on such an income.
Beautifully, no. Sufficiently, yes. Even that depends on where you live.
Well, in Paris. I would undertake it in Paris.
Madame Merles mouth rose to the left. It wouldnt be famous; youd have to make use of the teacups, and theyd get broken.
We dont want to be famous. If Miss Osmond should have everything pretty it would be enough. When ones as pretty as she one can affordwell, quite cheap faience. She ought never to wear anything but muslinwithout the sprig, said Rosier reflectively.
Wouldnt you even allow her the sprig? Shed be much obliged to you at any rate for that theory.
Its the correct one, I assure you; and Im sure shed enter into it. She understands all that; thats why I love her.
Shes a very good little girl, and most tidyalso extremely graceful. But her father, to the best of my belief, can give her nothing.
Rosier scarce demurred. I dont in the least desire that he should. But I may remark, all the same, that he lives like a rich man.
The moneys his wifes; she brought him a large fortune.
Mrs. Osmond then is very fond of her stepdaughter; she may do something.
For a love-sick swain you have your eyes about you! Madame Merle exclaimed with a laugh.
I esteem a dot very much. I can do without it, but I esteem it.
Mrs. Osmond, Madame Merle went on, will probably prefer to keep her money for her own children.
Her own children? Surely she has none.
She may have yet. She had a poor little boy, who died two years ago, six months after his birth. Others therefore may come.
I hope they will, if it will make her happy. Shes a splendid woman.
Madame Merle failed to burst into speech. Ah, about her theres much to be said. Splendid as you like! Weve not exactly made out that youre a parti. The absence of vices is hardly a source of income.
Pardon me, I think it may be, said Rosier quite lucidly.