Chapter 52 - Page 2

absolutely nothing to say to Madame Merle. In one's relations
with this lady, however, there were never any absolute
necessities; she had a manner which carried off not only her own
deficiencies but those of other people. But she was different
from usual; she came in slowly, behind the portress, and Isabel
instantly perceived that she was not likely to depend upon her
habitual resources. For her too the occasion was exceptional, and
she had undertaken to treat it by the light of the moment. This
gave her a peculiar gravity; she pretended not even to smile, and
though Isabel saw that she was more than ever playing a part it
seemed to her that on the whole the wonderful woman had never
been so natural. She looked at her young friend from head to
foot, but not harshly nor defiantly; with a cold gentleness
rather, and an absence of any air of allusion to their last
meeting. It was as if she had wished to mark a distinction. She
had been irritated then, she was reconciled now.

"You can leave us alone," she said to the portress; "in five
minutes this lady will ring for you." And then she turned to
Isabel, who, after noting what has just been mentioned, had
ceased to notice and had let her eyes wander as far as the limits
of the room would allow. She wished never to look at Madame Merle
again. "You're surprised to find me here, and I'm afraid you're
not pleased," this lady went on. "You don't see why I should have
come; it's as if I had anticipated you. I confess I've been
rather indiscreet--I ought to have asked your permission." There
was none of the oblique movement of irony in this; it was said
simply and mildly; but Isabel, far afloat on a sea of wonder and
pain, could not have told herself with what intention it was
uttered. "But I've not been sitting long," Madame Merle
continued; "that is I've not been long with Pansy. I came to see
her because it occurred to me this afternoon that she must be
rather lonely and perhaps even a little miserable. It may be good
for a small girl; I know so little about small girls; I can't
tell. At any rate it's a little dismal. Therefore I came--on the
chance. I knew of course that you'd come, and her father as well;
still, I had not been told other visitors were forbidden. The
good woman--what's her name? Madame Catherine--made no objection
whatever. I stayed twenty minutes with Pansy; she has a charming
little room, not in the least conventual, with a piano and
flowers. She has arranged it delightfully; she has so much taste.
Of course it's all none of my business, but I feel happier since
I've seen her. She may even have a maid if she likes; but of
course she has no occasion to dress. She wears a little black
frock; she looks so charming. I went afterwards to