satisfaction; and Isabel's satisfaction was confirmed by her lover's admirable good conduct. GilbertOsmond was in love, and he had never deserved less than during these still, bright days, each ofthem numbered, which preceded the fulfilment of his hopes, the harsh criticism passed upon himby Ralph Touchett. The chief impression produced on Isabel's spirit by this criticism was that thepassion of love separated its victim terribly from every one but the loved object. She felt herselfdisjoined from every one she had ever known before--from her two sisters, who wrote to express a第 233 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网dutiful hope that she would be happy, and a surprise, somewhat more vague, at her not havingchosen a consort who was the hero of a richer accumulation of anecdote; from Henrietta, who, shewas sure, would come out, too late, on purpose to remonstrate; from Lord Warburton, who wouldcertainly console himself, and from Caspar Goodwood, who perhaps would not; from her aunt,who had cold, shallow ideas about marriage, for which she was not sorry to display her contempt;and from Ralph, whose talk about having great views for her was surely but a whimsical cover fora personal disappointment. Ralph apparently wished her not to marry at all--that was what it reallymeant--because he was amused with the spectacle of her adventures as a single woman. Hisdisappointment made him say angry things about the man she had preferred even to him: Isabelflattered herself that she believed Ralph had been angry. It was the more easy for her to believethis because, as I say, she had now little free or unemployed emotion for minor needs, andaccepted as an incident, in fact quite as an ornament, of her lot the idea that to prefer GilbertOsmond as she preferred him was perforce to break all other ties. She tasted of the sweets of thispreference, and they made her conscious, almost with awe, of the invidious and remorseless tide ofthe charmed and possessed condition, great as was the traditional honour and imputed virtue ofbeing in love. It was the tragic part of happiness; one's right was always made of the wrong ofsome one else.The elation of success, which surely now flamed high in Osmond, emitted meanwhile very littlesmoke for so brilliant a blaze. Contentment, on his part, took no vulgar form; excitement, in themost self-conscious of men, was a kind of ecstasy of self-control. This disposition, however, madehim an admirable lover; it gave him a constant view of the smitten and dedicated state. He neverforgot himself, as I say; and so he never forgot to be graceful and tender, to wear the appearance-whichpresented indeed no difficulty--of stirred senses and deep intentions. He was immenselypleased with his young lady; Madame Merle had made him a present of incalculable value. Whatcould be a finer thing to live with than a high spirit attuned to softness? For would not the softnessbe all for one's self, and the strenuousness for society, which admired the air of superiority? Whatcould be a happier gift in a companion than a quick, fanciful mind which saved one repetitions andreflected one's thought on a polished, elegant surface? Osmond hated to see his thought reproducedliterally-- that made it look stale and stupid; he preferred it to be freshened in the reproductioneven as "words" by music. His egotism had never taken the crude form of desiring a dull wife; thislady's intelligence was to be a silver plate, not an earthen one--a plate that he might heap up withripe fruits, to which it would give a decorative value, so that talk might become for him a sort ofserved dessert. He found the silver quality in this perfection in Isabel; he could tap her imaginationwith his knuckle and make it ring. He knew perfectly, though he had not been told, that their unionenjoyed little favour with the girl's relations; but he had always treated her so completely as anindependent person that it hardly seemed necessary to express regret for the attitude of her family.Nevertheless, one morning, he made an abrupt allusion to it. "It's the difference in our fortune theydon't like," he said. "They think I'm in love with your money.""Are you speaking of my aunt--of my cousin?" Isabel asked. "How do you know what they think?""You've not told me they're pleased, and when I wrote to Mrs. Touchett the other day she neveranswered my note. If they had been delighted I should have had some sign of it, and the fact of mybeing poor and you rich is the most obvious explanation of their reserve. But of course when a第 234 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网poor man marries a rich girl he must be prepared for imputations. I don't mind them; I only care forone thing--for your not having the shadow of a doubt. I don't care what people of whom I asknothing think--I'm not even capable perhaps of wanting to know. I've never so concerned myself,God forgive me, and why should I begin to-day, when I have taken to myself a compensation foreverything? I won't pretend I'm sorry you're rich; I'm delighted. I delight in everything that'syours--whether it be money or virtue. Money's a horrid thing to follow, but a charming thing tomeet. It seems to me, however, that I've sufficiently proved the limits of my itch for it: I never inmy life tried to earn a penny, and I ought to be less subject to suspicion than most of the peopleone sees grubbing and grabbing. I suppose it's their business to suspect--that of your family; it'sproper on the whole they should. They'll like me better some day; so will you, for that matter.Meanwhile my business is not to make myself bad blood, but simply to be thankful for life andlove." "It has made me better, loving you," he said on another occasion; "it has made me wiser andeasier and--I won't pretend to deny--brighter and nicer and even stronger. I used to want a greatmany things before and to be angry I didn't have them. Theoretically I was satisfied, as I once toldyou. I flattered myself I had limited my wants. But I was subject to irritation; I used to havemorbid, sterile, hateful fits of hunger, of desire. Now I'm really satisfied, because I can't think ofanything better. It's just as when one has been trying to spell out a book in the twilight andsuddenly the lamp comes in. I had been putting out my eyes over the book of life and findingnothing to reward me for my pains; but now that I can read it properly I see it's a delightful story.My dear girl, I can't tell you how life seems to stretch there before us--what a long summerafternoon awaits us. It's the latter half of an Italian day --with a golden haze, and the shadows justlengthening, and that divine delicacy in the light, the air, the landscape, which I have loved all mylife and which you love to-day. Upon my honour, I don't see why we shouldn't get on. We've gotwhat we like--to say nothing of having each other. We've the faculty of admiration and severalcapital convictions. We're not stupid, we're not mean, we're not under bonds to any kind ofignorance or dreariness. You're remarkably fresh, and I'm remarkably well-seasoned. We've mypoor child to amuse us; we'll try and make up some little life for her. It's all soft and mellow--it hasthe Italian colouring."They made a good many plans, but they left themselves also a good deal of latitude; it was a matterof course, however, that they should live for the present in Italy. It was in Italy that they had met,Italy had been a party to their first impressions of each other, and Italy should be a party to theirhappiness. Osmond had the attachment of old acquaintance and Isabel the stimulus of new, whichseemed to assure her a future at a high level of consciousness of the beautiful. The desire forunlimited expansion had been succeeded in her soul by the sense that life was vacant without someprivate duty that might gather one's energies to a point. She had told Ralph she had "seen life" in ayear or two and that she was already tired, not of the act of living, but of that of observing. Whathad become of all her ardours, her aspirations, her theories, her high estimate of her independenceand her incipient conviction that she should never marry? These things had been absorbed in amore primitive need-- a need the answer to which brushed away numberless questions, yetgratified infinite desires. It simplified the situation at a stroke, it came down from above like thelight of the stars, and it needed no explanation. There was explanation enough in the fact that hewas her lover, her own, and that she should be able to be of use to him. She could surrender to him第 235 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网with a kind of humility, she could marry him with a kind of pride; she was not only taking, she wasgiving.He brought Pansy with him two or three times to the Cascine-- Pansy who was very little tallerthan a year before, and not much older. That she would always be a child was the convictionexpressed by her father, who held her by the hand when she was in her sixteenth year and told herto go and play while he sat down a little with the pretty lady. Pansy wore a short dress and a longcoat; her hat always seemed too big for her. She found pleasure in walking off, with quick, shortsteps, to the end of the alley, and then in walking back with a smile that seemed an appeal forapprobation. Isabel approved in abundance, and the abundance had the personal touch that thechild's affectionate nature craved. She watched her indications as if for herself also much dependedon them--Pansy already so represented part of the service she could render, part of theresponsibility she could face. Her father took so the childish view of her that he had not yetexplained to her the new relation in which he stood to the elegant Miss Archer. "She doesn'tknow," he said to Isabel; "she doesn't guess; she thinks it perfectly natural that you and I shouldcome and walk here together simply as good friends. There seems to me something enchantinglyinnocent in that; it's the way I like her to be. No, I'm not a failure, as I used to think; I've succeededin two things. I'm to marry the woman I adore, and I've brought up my child, as I wished, in the oldway."He was very fond, in all things, of the "old way"; that had struck Isabel as one of his fine, quiet,sincere notes. "It occurs to me that you'll not know whether you've succeeded until you've toldher," she said. "You must see how she takes your news, She may be horrified--she may bejealous.""I'm not afraid of that; she's too fond of you on her own account. I should like to leave her in thedark a little longer --to see if it will come into her head that if we're not engaged we ought to be."Isabel was impressed by Osmond's artistic, the plastic view, as it somehow appeared, of Pansy'sinnocence--her own appreciation of it being more anxiously moral. She was perhaps not the lesspleased when he told her a few days later that he had communicated the fact to his daughter, whohad made such a pretty little speech--"Oh, then I shall have a beautiful sister!" She was neithersurprised nor alarmed; she had not cried, as he expected."Perhaps she had guessed it," said Isabel."Don't say that; I should be disgusted if I believed that. I thought it would be just a little shock; butthe way she took it proves that her good manners are paramount. That's also what I wished. Youshall see for yourself; to-morrow she shall make you her congratulations in person."The meeting, on the morrow, took place at the Countess Gemini's, whither Pansy had beenconducted by her father, who knew that Isabel was to come in the afternoon to return a visit madeher by the Countess on learning that they were to become sisters-in-law. Calling at Casa Touchettthe visitor had not found Isabel at home; but after our young woman had been ushered into theCountess's drawing-room Pansy arrived to say that her aunt would presently appear. Pansy wasspending the day with that lady, who thought her of an age to begin to learn how to carry herself incompany. It was Isabel's view that the little girl might have given lessons in deportment to herrelative, and nothing could have justified this conviction more than the manner in which Pansy第 236 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网acquitted herself while they waited together for the Countess. Her father's decision, the yearbefore, had finally been to send her back to the convent to receive the last graces, and MadameCatherine had evidently carried out her theory that Pansy was to be fitted for the great world."Papa has told me that you've kindly consented to marry him," said this excellent woman's pupil."It's very delightful; I think you'll suit very well.""You think I shall suit YOU?""You'll suit me beautifully; but what I mean is that you and papa will suit each other. You're bothso quiet and so serious. You're not so quiet as he--or even as Madame Merle; but you're more quietthan many others. He should not for instance have a wife like my aunt. She's always in motion, inagitation--to-day especially; you'll see when she comes in. They told us at the convent it waswrong to judge our elders, but I suppose there's no harm if we judge them favourably. You'll be adelightful companion for papa.""For you too, I hope," Isabel said."I speak first of him on purpose. I've told you already what I myself think of you; I liked you fromthe first. I admire you so much that I think it will be a good fortune to have you always before me.You'll be my model; I shall try to imitate you though I'm afraid it will be very feeble. I'm very gladfor papa--he needed something more than me. Without you I don't see how he could have got it.You'll be my stepmother, but we mustn't use that word. They're always said to be cruel; but I don'tthink you'll ever so much as pinch or even push me. I'm not afraid at all.""My good little Pansy," said Isabel gently, "I shall be ever so kind to you." A vague, inconsequentvision of her coming in some odd way to need it had intervened with the effect of a chill."Very well then, I've nothing to fear," the child returned with her note of prepared promptitude.What teaching she had had, it seemed to suggest--or what penalties for non-performance shedreaded!Her description of her aunt had not been incorrect; the Countess Gemini was further than everfrom having folded her wings. She entered the room with a flutter through the air and kissed Isabelfirst on the forehead and then on each cheek as if according to some ancient prescribed rite. Shedrew the visitor to a sofa and, looking at her with a variety of turns of the head, began to talk verymuch as if, seated brush in hand before an easel, she were applying a series of considered touchesto a composition of figures already sketched in. "If you expect me to congratulate you I must begyou to excuse me. I don't suppose you care if I do or not; I believe you're supposed not to care-throughbeing so clever--for all sorts of ordinary things. But I care myself if I tell fibs; I never tellthem unless there's something rather good to be gained. I don't see what's to be gained with you-especiallyas you wouldn't believe me. I don't make professions any more than I make paperflowers or flouncey lampshades--I don't know how. My lampshades would be sure to take fire, myroses and my fibs to be larger than life. I'm very glad for my own sake that you're to marryOsmond; but I won't pretend I'm glad for yours. You're very brilliant--you know that's the wayyou're always spoken of; you're an heiress and very good-looking and original, not banal; so it's agood thing to have you in the family. Our family's very good, you know; Osmond will have toldyou that; and my mother was rather distinguished--she was called the American Corinne. But we'redreadfully fallen, I think, and perhaps you'll pick us up. I've great confidence in you; there are ever第 237 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网so many things I want to talk to you about. I never congratulate any girl on marrying; I think theyought to make it somehow not quite so awful a steel trap. I suppose Pansy oughtn't to hear all this;but that's what she has come to me for --to acquire the tone of society. There's no harm in herknowing what horrors she may be in for. When first I got an idea that my brother had designs onyou 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 wasenchanted for myself; and after all I'm very selfish. By the way, you won't respect me, not onelittle mite, and we shall never be intimate. I should like it, but you won't. 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, he's on no sort of terms with Osmond. He's very fond of going to see prettywomen, but I'm not afraid of you. In the first place I don't care what he does. In the second, youwon't care a straw for him; he won't be a bit, at any time, your affair, and, stupid as he is, he'll seeyou're not his. Some day, if you can stand it, I'll tell you all about him. Do you think my nieceought 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 XXXVIOne afternoon of the autumn of 1876, toward dusk, a young man of pleasing appearance rang atthe door of a small apartment on the third floor of an old Roman house. On its being opened heenquired for Madame Merle; whereupon the servant, a neat, plain woman, with a French face and alady's maid's manner, ushered him into a diminutive drawing-room and requested the favour of hisname. "Mr. Edward Rosier," said the young man, who sat down to wait till his hostess shouldappear.The reader will perhaps not have forgotten that Mr. Rosier was an ornament of the American circlein Paris, but it may also be remembered that he sometimes vanished from its horizon. He had spenta portion of several winters at Pau, and as he was a gentleman of constituted habits he might havecontinued 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 hiscustomary sequences. He passed a month in the Upper Engadine and encountered at Saint Moritz acharming young girl. To this little person he began to pay, on the spot, particular attention: shestruck 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 tohim when they parted--the young lady to go down into Italy and her admirer to proceed to Geneva,where he was under bonds to join other friends--that he should be romantically wretched if he werenot to see her again. The simplest way to do so was to go in the autumn to Rome, where MissOsmond was domiciled with her family. Mr. Rosier started on his pilgrimage to the Italian capitaland reached it on the first of November. It was a pleasant thing to do, but for the young man therewas a strain of the heroic in the enterprise. He might expose himself, unseasoned, to the poison ofthe Roman air, which in November lay, notoriously, much in wait. Fortune, however, favours thebrave; and this adventurer, who took three grains of quinine a day, had at the end of a month nocause to deplore his temerity. He had made to a certain extent good use of his time; he had devoted第 238 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网it in vain to finding a flaw in Pansy Osmond's composition. She was admirably finished; she hadhad the last touch; she was really a consummate piece. He thought of her in amorous meditation agood deal as he might have thought of a Dresden-china shepherdess. Miss Osmond, indeed, in thebloom of her juvenility, had a hint of the rococo which Rosier, whose taste was predominantly forthat manner, could not fail to appreciate. That he esteemed the productions of comparativelyfrivolous periods would have been apparent from the attention he bestowed upon Madame Merle'sdrawing-room, which, although furnished with specimens of every style, was especially rich inarticles 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 wassmall and densely filled with furniture; it gave an impression of faded silk and little statuetteswhich might totter if one moved. Rosier got up and wandered about with his careful tread, bendingover the tables charged with knick-knacks and the cushions embossed with princely arms. WhenMadame Merle came in she found him standing before the fireplace with his nose very close to thegreat lace flounce attached to the damask cover of the mantel. He had lifted it delicately, as if hewere smelling it."It's old Venetian," she said; "it's rather good.""It's 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 can't wear mine," smiled the visitor."I don't see why you shouldn't! I've better lace than that to wear."His eyes wandered, lingeringly, round the room again. "You've some very good things.""Yes, but I hate them.""Do you want to get rid of them?" the young man quickly asked."No, it's 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 it's notabout them, nor about yours, that I came to talk to you." He paused a moment and then, withgreater 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 inlove, you know, doesn't ask advice.""Why not, if he's in a difficult position? That's often the case with a man in love. I've been in lovebefore, and I know. But never so much as this time--really never so much. I should likeparticularly to know what you think of my prospects. I'm afraid that for Mr. Osmond I'm not--well,a real collector's piece.""Do you wish me to intercede?" Madame Merle asked with her fine arms folded and her handsomemouth 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 mytroubling Miss Osmond unless I have good reason to believe her father will consent."第 239 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网"You're very considerate; that's in your favour. But you assume in rather an off-hand way that Ithink you a prize.""You've been very kind to me," said the young man. "That's why I came.""I'm always kind to people who have good Louis Quatorze. It's very rare now, and there's notelling what one may get by it." With which the left-hand corner of Madame Merle's mouth gaveexpression to the joke.But he looked, in spite of it, literally apprehensive and consistently strenuous. "Ah, I thought youliked me for myself!""I like you very much; but, if you please, we won't analyse. Pardon me if I seem patronising, but Ithink you a perfect little gentleman. I must tell you, however, that I've not the marrying of PansyOsmond.""I didn't suppose that. But you've seemed to me intimate with her family, and I thought you mighthave influence."Madame Merle considered. "Whom do you call her family?""Why, her father; and--how do you say it in English?--her belle-mere.""Mr. Osmond's her father, certainly; but his wife can scarcely be termed a member of her family.Mrs. Osmond has nothing to do with marrying her.""I'm sorry for that," said Rosier with an amiable sigh of good faith. "I think Mrs. Osmond wouldfavour me.""Very likely--if her husband doesn't."He raised his eyebrows. "Does she take the opposite line from him?""In everything. They think quite differently.""Well," said Rosier, "I'm sorry for that; but it's none of my business. She's very fond of Pansy.""Yes, she's 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 ownmother.""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 I've assured myself of those of theparents.""You always wait for that? You've excellent principles; you observe the proprieties.""I think you're laughing at me," the young man murmured, dropping back in his chair and feelinghis small moustache. "I didn't expect that of you, Madame Merle."She shook her head calmly, like a person who saw things as she saw them. "You don't do mejustice. I think your conduct in excellent taste and the best you could adopt. Yes, that's what Ithink.""I wouldn't agitate her--only to agitate her; I love her too much for that," said Ned Rosier.