FOUR MEETINGS. By Henry James 1885 I saw her only four times, but I remember them vividly; she made animpression upon me. I thought her very pretty and very interesting, --acharming specimen of a type. I am very sorry to hear of her death; andyet, when I think of it, why should I be sorry? The last time I saw hershe was certainly not--But I will describe all our meetings in order. I. The first one took place in the country, at a little tea-party, onesnowy night. It must have been some seventeen years ago. My friendLatouche, going to spend Christmas with his mother, had persuaded me togo with him, and the good lady had given in our honor the entertainmentof which I speak. To me it was really entertaining; I had never been inthe 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 theirway to the house; but I perceived that at Grimwinter a conversazioneoffering the attraction of two gentlemen from New York was felt to beworth an effort. Mrs. Latouche, in the course of the evening, asked me if I "did n't wantto" show the photographs to some of the young ladies. The photographswere in a couple of great portfolios, and had been brought home by herson, who, like myself, was lately returned from Europe. I looked roundand was struck with the fact that most of the young ladies wereprovided with an object of interest more absorbing than the mostvivid sun-picture. But there was a person standing alone near themantelshelf, and looking round the room with a small gentle smile whichseemed 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. " "Oh, yes, " said Mrs. Latouche, "she is just the person. She doesn't carefor flirting; I will speak to her. " 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 thephotographs to her. "She's delighted, " she said, coming back. "She is just the person, soquiet and so bright. " And then she told me the young lady was, by name, Miss Caroline Spencer, and with this she introduced me. Miss Caroline Spencer was not exactly a beauty, but she was a charminglittle figure. She must have been close upon thirty, but she was madealmost like a little girl, and she had the complexion of a child. Shehad a very pretty head, and her hair was arranged as nearly as possiblelike the hair of a Greek bust, though indeed it was to be doubted if shehad ever seen a Greek bust. She was "artistic, " I suspected, so far asGrimwinter allowed such tendencies. She had a soft, surprised eye, andthin lips, with very pretty teeth. Round her neck she wore what ladiescall, I believe, a "ruche, " fastened with a very small pin in pinkcoral, and in her hand she carried a fan made of plaited straw andadorned with pink ribbon. She wore a scanty black silk dress. She spokewith a kind of soft precision, showing her white teeth between hernarrow but tender-looking lips, and she seemed extremely pleased, evena little fluttered, at the prospect of my demonstrations. These wentforward very smoothly, after I had moved the portfolios out of theircorner and placed a couple of chairs near a lamp. The photographs wereusually things I knew, --large views of Switzerland, Italy, and Spain, landscapes, copies of famous buildings, pictures, and statues. I saidwhat I could about them, and my companion, looking at them as Iheld them up, sat perfectly still, with her straw fan raised to herunderlip. Occasionally, as I laid one of the pictures down, she saidvery softly, "Have you seen that place?" I usually answered that I hadseen it several times (I had been a great traveller), and then I feltthat she looked at me askance for a moment with her pretty eyes. I hadasked her at the outset whether she had been to Europe; to this sheanswered, "No, no, no, " in a little quick, confidential whisper. Butafter that, though she never took her eyes off the pictures, she saidso little that I was afraid she was bored. Accordingly, after we hadfinished one portfolio, I offered, if she desired it, to desist. I feltthat she was not bored, but her reticence puzzled me, and I wished tomake her speak. I turned round to look at her, and saw that there was afaint flush in each of her cheeks. She was waving her little fan toand fro. Instead of looking at me she fixed her eyes upon the otherportfolio, which was leaning against the table. "Won't you show me that?" she asked, with a little tremor in her voice. I could almost have believed she was agitated. "With pleasure, " I answered, "if you are not tired. " "No, I am not tired, " she affirmed. "I like it--I love it. " And as I took up the other portfolio she laid her hand upon it, rubbingit softly. "And have you been here too?" she asked. On my opening the portfolio it appeared that I had been there. One ofthe first photographs was a large view of the Castle of Chillon, on theLake of Geneva. "Here, " I said, "I have been many a time. Is it not beautiful?" And Ipointed to the perfect reflection of the rugged rocks and pointed towersin the clear still water. She did not say, "Oh, enchanting!" and push itaway to see the next picture. She looked awhile, and then she askedif it was not where Bonnivard, about whom Byron wrote, was confined. Iassented, and tried to quote some of Byron's verses, but in this attemptI succeeded imperfectly. She fanned herself a moment, and then repeated the lines correctly, ina soft, flat, and yet agreeable voice. By the time she had finished shewas blushing. I complimented her and told her she was perfectly equippedfor visiting Switzerland and Italy. She looked at me askance again, tosee whether I was serious, and I added, that if she wished to recognizeByron's descriptions she must go abroad speedily; Europe was gettingsadly dis-Byronized. "How soon must I go?" she asked. "Oh, I will give you ten years. " "I think I can go within ten years, " she answered very soberly. "Well, " I said, "you will enjoy it immensely; you will find it verycharming. " And just then I came upon a photograph of some nook in aforeign city which I had been very fond of, and which recalled tendermemories. I discoursed (as I suppose) with a certain eloquence; mycompanion sat listening, breathless. "Have you been _very_ long in foreign lands?" she asked, some time afterI had ceased. "Many years, " I said. "And have you travelled everywhere?" "I have travelled a great deal. I am very fond of it; and, happily, Ihave been able. " Again she gave me her sidelong gaze. "And do you know the foreignlanguages?" "After a fashion. " "Is it hard to speak them?" "I don't believe you would find it hard, " I gallantly responded. "Oh, I shouldn't want to speak; I should only want to listen, " shesaid. Then, after a pause, she added, "They say the French theatre is sobeautiful. " "It is the best in the world. " "Did you go there very often?" "When I was first in Paris I went every night. " "Every night!" And she opened her clear eyes very wide. "That to meis:--" and she hesitated a moment--"is very wonderful. " A few minuteslater she asked, "Which country do you prefer?" "There is one country I prefer to all others. I think you would do thesame. " She looked at me a moment, and then she said softly, "Italy?" "Italy, " I answered softly, too; and for a moment we looked at eachother. She looked as pretty as if, instead of showing her photographs, Ihad been making love to her. To increase the analogy, she glanced away, blushing. There was a silence, which she broke at last by saying, -- "That is the place which, in particular, I thought of going to. " "Oh, that's the place, that's the place!" I said. She looked at two or three photographs in silence. "They say it is notso dear. " "As some other countries? Yes, that is not the least of its charms. " "But it is all very dear, is it not?" "Europe, you mean?" "Going there and travelling. That has been the trouble. I have verylittle money. I give lessons, " said Miss Spencer. "Of course one must have money, " I said, "but one can manage with amoderate amount. " "I think I should manage. I have laid something by, and I am alwaysadding a little to it. It's all for that. " She paused a moment, and thenwent on with a kind of suppressed eagerness, as if telling me the storywere a rare, but a possibly impure satisfaction, "But it has not beenonly the money; it has been everything. Everything has been against itI have waited and waited. It has been a mere castle in the air. I amalmost afraid to talk about it. Two or three times it has been a littlenearer, and then I have talked about it and it has melted away. I havetalked about it too much, " she said hypocritically; for I saw that suchtalking was now a small tremulous ecstasy. "There is a lady who is agreat friend of mine; she does n't want to go; I always talk to herabout it. I tire her dreadfully. She told me once she did n't know whatwould become of me. I should go crazy if I did not go to Europe, and Ishould certainly go crazy if I did. " "Well, " I said, "you have not gone yet, and nevertheless you are notcrazy. " She looked at me a moment, and said, "I am not so sure. I don't think ofanything else. I am always thinking of it. It prevents me from thinkingof things that are nearer home, things that I ought to attend to. Thatis a kind of craziness. " "The cure for it is to go, " I said. "I have a faith that I shall go. I have a cousin in Europe!" sheannounced. We turned over some more photographs, and I asked her if she had alwayslived at Grimwinter. "Oh, no, sir, " said Miss Spencer. "I have spent twenty-three months inBoston. " I answered, jocosely, that in that case foreign lands would probablyprove a disappointment to her; but I quite failed to alarm her. "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 havenot only read Byron; I have read histories and guidebooks. I know Ishall like it. " "I understand your case, " I rejoined. "You have the native Americanpassion, --the passion for the picturesque. With us, I think it isprimordial, --antecedent to experience. Experience comes and only showsus something we have dreamt of. " "I think that is very true, " said Caroline Spencer. "I have dreamt ofeverything; I shall know it all!" "I am afraid you have wasted a great deal of time. " "Oh, yes, that has been my great wickedness. " 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 peculiarbrightness in her eyes. "I am going back there, " I said, as I shook hands with her. "I shalllook out for you. " "I will tell you, " she answered, "if I am disappointed. " And she went away, looking delicately agitated, and moving her littlestraw fan. II. A few months after this I returned to Europe, and some three yearselapsed. I had been living in Paris, and, toward the end of October, Iwent from that city to Havre, to meet my sister and her husband, whohad written me that they were about to arrive there. On reaching HavreI found that the steamer was already in; I was nearly two hours late. I repaired directly to the hotel, where my relatives were alreadyestablished. My sister had gone to bed, exhausted and disabled by hervoyage; she was a sadly incompetent sailor, and her sufferings on thisoccasion had been extreme. She wished, for the moment, for undisturbedrest, and was unable to see me more than five minutes; so it was agreedthat 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; butshe insisted upon his going out with me to take a walk and recover hislandlegs. The early autumn day was warm and charming, and our strollthrough the bright-colored, busy streets of the old French seaport wassufficiently entertaining. We walked along the sunny, noisy quays, andthen turned into a wide, pleasant street, which lay half in sun andhalf in shade--a French provincial street, that looked like an oldwater-color drawing: tall, gray, steep-roofed, red-gabled, many-storiedhouses; green shutters on windows and old scroll-work above them;flower-pots in balconies, and white-capped women in doorways. We walkedin the shade; all this stretched away on the sunny side of the streetand 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 hisgaze and saw that we had paused just before coming to a _café_, where, under an awning, several tables and chairs were disposed upon thepavement The windows were open behind; half a dozen plants in tubs wereranged beside the door; the pavement was besprinkled with clean bran. It was a nice little, quiet, old-fashioned _café_; inside, in thecomparative dusk, I saw a stout, handsome woman, with pink ribbons inher cap, perched up with a mirror behind her back, smiling at some onewho was out of sight. All this, however, I perceived afterwards; what Ifirst observed was a lady sitting alone, outside, at one of the littlemarble-topped tables. My brother-in-law had stopped to look at her. There was something on the little table, but she was leaning backquietly, with her hands folded, looking down the street, away from us. I saw her only in something less than profile; nevertheless, I instantlyfelt that I had seen her before. "The little lady of the steamer!" exclaimed my brother-in-law. "Was she on your steamer?" I asked. "From morning till night She was never sick. She used to sit perpetuallyat the side of the vessel with her hands crossed that way, looking atthe eastward horizon. " "Are you going to speak to her?" "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 schoolmistresstaking a holiday, for which her scholars have made up a purse. " She turned her face a little more into profile, looking at the steepgray house-fronts opposite to her. Then I said, "I shall speak to hermyself. " "I would n't; she is very shy, " said my brother-in-law. "My dear fellow, I know her. I once showed her photographs at atea-party. " And I went up to her. She turned and looked at me, and I saw she was infact 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. "Well, " I said, "I hope you are not disappointed!" She stared, blushing a little; then she gave a small jump which betrayedrecognition. "It was you who showed me the photographs, at Grimwinter!" "Yes, it was I. This happens very charmingly, for I feel as if it werefor me to give you a formal reception here, an official welcome. Italked to you so much about Europe. " "You did n't say too much. I am so happy!" she softly exclaimed. Very happy she looked. There was no sign of her being older; she was asgravely, decently, demurely pretty as before. If she had seemed before athin-stemmed, mild-hued flower of Puritanism, it may be imagined whetherin her present situation this delicate bloom was less apparent. Besideher an old gentleman was drinking absinthe; behind her the _dame decomptoir_ in the pink ribbons was calling "Alcibiade! Alcibiade!" to thelong-aproned waiter. I explained to Miss Spencer that my companionhad lately been her shipmate, and my brother-in-law came up and wasintroduced to her. But she looked at him as if she had never seen himbefore, and I remembered that he had told me that her eyes were alwaysfixed upon the eastward horizon. She had evidently not noticed him, and, still timidly smiling, she made no attempt whatever to pretend that shehad. I stayed with her at the _café_ door, and he went back to the hoteland to his wife. I said to Miss Spencer that this meeting of ours inthe first hour of her landing was really very strange, but that I wasdelighted to be there and receive her first impressions. "Oh, I can't tell you, " she said; "I feel as if I were in a dream. Ihave been sitting here for an hour, and I don't want to move. Everythingis so picturesque. I don't know whether the coffee has intoxicated me;it 's so delicious. " "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 youradmiration all the first day; remember it's your intellectual letter ofcredit. Remember all the beautiful places and things that are waitingfor you; remember that lovely Italy!" "I 'm not afraid of running short, " she said gayly, still looking at theopposite houses. "I could sit here all day, saying to myself that here Iam at last. It's so dark and old and different. " "By the way, " I inquired, "how come you to be sitting here? Have you notgone to one of the inns?" For I was half amused, half alarmed, at thegood conscience with which this delicately pretty woman had stationedherself in conspicuous isolation on the edge of the _trottoir_. "My cousin brought me here, " she answered. "You know I told you I had acousin in Europe. He met me at the steamer this morning. " "It was hardly worth his while to meet you if he was to desert you sosoon. " "Oh, he has only left me for half an hour, " said Miss Spencer. "He hasgone to get my money. " "Where is your money?" She gave a little laugh. "It makes me feel very fine to tell you! It isin some circular notes. " "And where are your circular notes?" "In my cousin's pocket. " This statement was very serenely uttered, but--I can hardly say why--itgave me a sensible chill At the moment I should have been utterlyunable to give the reason of this sensation, for I knew nothing of MissSpencer's cousin. Since he was her cousin, the presumption was in hisfavor. But I felt suddenly uncomfortable at the thought that, half anhour after her landing, her scanty funds should have passed into hishands. "Is he to travel with you?" I asked. "Only as far as Paris. He is an art-student, in Paris. I wrote to himthat I was coming, but I never expected him to come off to the ship. Isupposed he would only just meet me at the train in Paris. It is verykind of him. But he _is_ very kind, and very bright. " I instantly became conscious of an extreme curiosity to see this brightcousin who was an art-student. "He is gone to the banker's?" I asked. "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 allround, and a lovely landlady, in such a beautifully fluted cap, andsuch a perfectly fitting dress! After a while we came out to walk to thebanker's, for I haven't got any French money. But I was very dizzy fromthe motion of the vessel, and I thought I had better sit down. He foundthis place for me here, and he went off to the banker's himself. I am towait here till he comes back. " It may seem very fantastic, but it passed through my mind that he wouldnever come back. I settled myself in my chair beside Miss Spencer anddetermined to await the event. She was extremely observant; there wassomething touching in it. She noticed everything that the movement ofthe street brought before us, --peculiarities of costume, the shapes ofvehicles, the big Norman horses, the fat priests, the shaven poodles. We talked of these things, and there was something charming in herfreshness of perception and the way her book-nourished fancy recognizedand welcomed everything. "And when your cousin comes back, what are you going to do?" I asked. She hesitated a moment. "We don't quite know. " "When do you go to Paris? If you go by the four o'clock train, I mayhave the pleasure of making the journey with you. " "I don't think we shall do that. My cousin thinks I had better stay herea few days. " "Oh!" said I; and for five minutes said nothing more. I was wonderingwhat her cousin was, in vulgar parlance, "up to. " I looked up anddown the street, but saw nothing that looked like a bright Americanart-student. At last I took the liberty of observing that Havre washardly a place to choose as one of the æsthetic stations of a Europeantour. It was a place of convenience, nothing more; a place of transit, through which transit should be rapid. I recommended her to go to Parisby the afternoon train, and meanwhile to amuse herself by driving to theancient fortress at the mouth of the harbor, --that picturesque circularstructure which bore the name of Francis the First, and looked like asmall castle of St. Angelo. (It has lately been demolished. ) She listened with much interest; then for a moment she looked grave. "My cousin told me that when he returned he should have somethingparticular to say to me, and that we could do nothing or decide nothinguntil I should have heard it. But I will make him tell me quickly, andthen we will go to the ancient fortress. There is no hurry to get toParis; there is plenty of time. " She smiled with her softly severe little lips as she spoke those lastwords. But I, looking at her with a purpose, saw just a tiny gleam ofapprehension in her eye. "Don't tell me, " I said, "that this wretched man is going to give youbad news!" "I suspect it is a little bad, but I don't believe it is very bad. Atany rate, I must listen to it. " I looked at her again an instant. "You did n't come to Europe tolisten, " I said. "You came to see!" But now I was sure her cousinwould come back; since he had something disagreeable to say to her, hecertainly would turn up. We sat a while longer, and I asked her abouther plans of travel She had them on her fingers' ends, and she told overthe names with a kind of solemn distinctness: from Paris to Dijon andto Avignon, from Avignon to Marseilles and the Cornice road; thence toGenoa, to Spezia, to Pisa, to Florence, to Home. It apparently hadnever occurred to her that there could be the least incommodity in hertravelling alone; and since she was unprovided with a companion I ofcourse scrupulously abstained from disturbing her sense of security. At last her cousin came back. I saw him turn towards us out of a sidestreet, and from the moment my eyes rested upon him I felt that this wasthe bright American art-student. He wore a slouch hat and a rusty blackvelvet jacket, such as I had often encountered in the Rue Bonaparte. Hisshirt-collar revealed the elongation of a throat which, at a distance, was not strikingly statuesque. He was tall and lean; he had red hair andfreckles. So much I had time to observe while he approached the _café_, 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 oldacquaintance of Miss Spencer. He looked at me hard with a pair of littlered eyes, then he made me a solemn bow in the French fashion, with hissombrero. "You were not on the ship?" he said. "No, I was not on the ship. I have been in Europe these three years. " He bowed once more, solemnly, and motioned me to be seated again. I satdown, but it was only for the purpose of observing him an instant; I sawit was time I should return to my sister. Miss Spencer's cousin was aqueer fellow. Nature had not shaped him for a Raphaelesque or Byronicattire, and his velvet doublet and naked neck were not in harmony withhis facial attributes. His hair was cropped close to his head; his earswere large and ill-adjusted to the same. He had a lackadaisical carriageand a sentimental droop which were peculiarly at variance with his keen, strange-colored eyes. Perhaps I was prejudiced, but I thought his eyestreacherous. He said nothing for some time; he leaned his hands on hiscane and looked up and down the street Then at last, slowly liftinghis 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 halfclosed. I followed the direction of his stick; the object it indicatedwas a red cloth hung out of an old window. "Nice bit of color, " hecontinued; and without moving his head he transferred his half-closedgaze to me. "Composes well, " he pursued. "Make a nice thing. " He spokein a hard vulgar voice. "I see you have a great deal of eye, " I replied. "Your cousin tellsme you are studying art. " He looked at me in the same way withoutanswering, and I went on with deliberate urbanity, "I suppose you are atthe studio of one of those great men. " Still he looked at me, and then he said softly, "Gérôme. " "Do you like it?" I asked. "Do you understand French?" he said. "Some kinds, " I answered. He kept his little eyes on me; then he said, "J'adore la peinture!" "Oh, I understand that kind!" I rejoined. Miss Spencer laid her handupon her cousin's arm with a little pleased and fluttered movement;it was delightful to be among people who were on such easy terms withforeign 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 hotelwould she go? She turned to her cousin inquiringly, and he honored me again with hislittle languid leer. "Do you know the Hôtel des Princes?" "I know where it is. " "I shall take her there. " "I congratulate you, " I said to Caroline Spencer. "I believe it is thebest inn in the world; and in case I should still have a moment to callupon you here, where are you lodged?" "Oh, it's such a pretty name, " said Miss Spencer gleefully. "À la BelleNormande. " As I left them her cousin gave me a great flourish with his picturesquehat. III. My sister, as it proved, was not sufficiently restored to leave Havre bythe afternoon train; so that, as the autumn dusk began to fall, I foundmyself at liberty to call at the sign of the Fair Norman. I must confessthat I had spent much of the interval in wondering what the disagreeablething was that my charming friend's disagreeable cousin had been tellingher. The "Belle Normande" was a modest inn in a shady bystreet, where itgave me satisfaction to think Miss Spencer must have encountered localcolor in abundance. There was a crooked little court, where much of thehospitality of the house was carried on; there was a staircase climbingto bedrooms on the outer side of the wall; there was a small tricklingfountain with a stucco statuette in the midst of it; there was a littleboy in a white cap and apron cleaning copper vessels at a conspicuouskitchen door; there was a chattering landlady, neatly laced, arrangingapricots and grapes into an artistic pyramid upon a pink plate. I lookedabout, and on a green bench outside of an open door labelled _Salle àManger_, I perceived Caroline Spencer. No sooner had I looked at herthan I saw that something had happened since the morning. She wasleaning back on her bench, her hands were clasped in her lap, and hereyes were fixed upon the landlady, at the other side of the court, manipulating her apricots. 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 haddone so, she simply turned round, without surprise, and rested her sadeyes upon me. Something very bad indeed had happened; she was completelychanged. I immediately charged her with it. "Your cousin has been giving you badnews; you are in great distress. " For a moment she said nothing, and I supposed that she was afraid tospeak, lest her tears should come back. But presently I perceived thatin the short time that had elapsed since my leaving her in the morningshe had shed them all, and that she was now softly stoical, intenselycomposed. "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. " "In want of yours, you mean?" "Of any that he could get--honestly. Mine was the only money. " "And he has taken yours?" She hesitated again a moment, but her glance, meanwhile, was pleading. "I gave him what I had. " I have always remembered the accent of those words as the most angelicbit of human utterance I had ever listened to; but then, almost with asense of personal outrage, I jumped up. "Good heavens!" I said, "do youcall that getting, it honestly?" I had gone too far; she blushed deeply. "We will not speak of it, " shesaid. "We _must_ speak of it, " I answered, sitting down again. "I am yourfriend; it seems to me you need one. What is the matter with yourcousin?" "He is in debt. " "No doubt! But what is the special fitness of your paying his debts?" "He has told me all his story; I am very sorry for him. " "So am I! But I hope he will give you back your money. " "Certainly he will; as soon as he can. " "When will that be?" "When he has finished his great picture. " "My dear young lady, confound his great picture! Where is this desperatecousin?" She certainly hesitated now. Then, --"At his dinner, " she answered. I turned about and looked through the open door into the _salle àmanger_. There, alone at the end of a long table, I perceived the objectof Miss Spencer's compassion, the bright young art-student. He wasdining too attentively to notice me at first; but in the act of settingdown 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 meagrejaws slowly moving, fixedly returned my gaze. Then the landlady camelightly brushing by with her pyramid of apricots. "And that nice little plate of fruit is for him?" I exclaimed. Miss Spencer glanced at it tenderly. "They do that so prettily!" shemurmured. I felt helpless and irritated. "Come now, really, " I said; "do youapprove of that long strong fellow accepting your funds?" She lookedaway from me; I was evidently giving her pain. The case was hopeless;the long strong fellow had "interested" her. "Excuse me if I speak of him so unceremoniously, " I said. "But you arereally too generous, and he is not quite delicate enough. He made hisdebts himself; he ought to pay them himself. " "He has been foolish, " she answered; "I know that He has told meeverything. We had a long talk this morning; the poor fellow threwhimself upon my charity. He has signed notes to a large amount. " "The more fool he!" "He is in extreme distress; and it is not only himself. It is his poorwife. " "Ah, he has a poor wife?" "I didn't know it; but he confessed everything. He married two yearssince, secretly. " "Why secretly?" Caroline Spencer glanced about her, as if she feared listeners. Thensoftly, in a little impressive tone, --"She was a countess!" "Are you very sure of that?" "She has written me a most beautiful letter. " "Asking you for money, eh?" "Asking me for confidence and sympathy, " said Miss Spencer. "She hasbeen disinherited by her father. My cousin told me the story, and shetells 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 hadsecretly disobeyed him he cruelly cast her off. It is really mostromantic. They are the oldest family in Provence. " I looked and listened in wonder. It really seemed that the poor womanwas enjoying the "romance" of having a discarded countess-cousin, out ofProvence, so deeply as almost to lose the sense of what the forfeitureof her money meant for her. "My dear young lady, " I said, "you don't want to be ruined forpicturesqueness' sake?" "I shall not be ruined. I shall come back before long to stay with them. The Countess insists upon that. " "Come back! You are going home, then?" She sat for a moment with her eyes lowered, then with an heroicsuppression of a faint tremor of the voice, --"I have no money fortravelling!" she answered. "You gave it _all_ up?" "I have kept enough to take me home. " 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 theProvençal countess, emerged from the little dining-room. He stood on thethreshold for an instant, removing the stone from a plump apricot whichhe had brought away from the table; then he put the apricot into hismouth, and while he let it sojourn there, gratefully, stood looking atus, with his long legs apart and his hands dropped into the pockets ofhis velvet jacket. My companion got up, giving him a thin glance whichI caught in its passage, and which expressed a strange commixture ofresignation and fascination, --a sort of perverted exaltation. Ugly, vulgar, pretentious, dishonest, as I thought the creature, he hadappealed successfully to her eager and tender imagination. I was deeplydisgusted, but I had no warrant to interfere, and at any rate I feltthat it would be vain. The young man waved his hand with a pictorial gesture. "Nice old court, "he observed. "Nice mellow old place. Good tone in that brick. Nicecrooked old staircase. " Decidedly, I could n't stand it; without responding I gave my hand toCaroline Spencer. She looked at me an instant with her little whiteface and expanded eyes, and as she showed her pretty teeth I suppose shemeant to smile. "Don't be sorry for me, " she said, "I am very sure I shall see somethingof this dear old Europe yet. " I told her that I would not bid her goodby; I should find a momentto come back the next morning. Her cousin, who had put on his sombreroagain, flourished it off at me by way of a bow, upon which I took mydeparture. The next morning I came back to the inn, where I met in the court thelandlady, more loosely laced than in the evening. On my asking for MissSpencer, --"_Partie_, monsieu, " said the hostess. "She went away lastnight at ten o 'clock, with her--her--not her husband, eh?--in fine, her _monsieur_. They went down to the American ship. " I turned away; thepoor girl had been about thirteen hours in Europe. IV. I myself, more fortunate, was there some five years longer. During thisperiod I lost my friend Latouche, who died of a malarious fever during atour in the Levant. One of the first things I did on my return was to goup to Grimwinter to pay a consolatory visit to his poor mother. I foundher in deep affliction, and I sat with her the whole of the morningthat followed my arrival (I had come in late at night), listening toher tearful descant and singing the praises of my friend. We talked ofnothing else, and our conversation terminated only with the arrival ofa 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 brisknessof a startled sleeper throwing back the bed-clothes. She jumped outof the carryall and she jumped into the room. She proved to be theminister's wife and the great town-gossip, and she had evidently, in thelatter capacity, a choice morsel to communicate. I was as sure of thisas I was that poor Mrs. Latouche was not absolutely too bereaved tolisten to her. It seemed to me discreet to retire; I said I believed Iwould go and take a walk before dinner. "And, by the way, " I added, "if you will tell me where my old friendMiss Spencer lives, I will walk to her house. " The minister's wife immediately responded. Miss Spencer lived in thefourth house beyond the "Baptist church; the Baptist church was the oneon the right, with that queer green thing over the door; they called ita portico, but it looked more like an old-fashioned bedstead. "Yes, do go and see poor Caroline, " said Mrs. Latouche. "It will refreshher to see a strange face. " "I should think she had had enough of strange faces!" cried theminister's wife. "I mean, to see a visitor, " said Mrs. Latouche, amending her phrase. "I should think she had had enough of visitors!" her companion rejoined. "But _you_ don't mean to stay ten years, " she added, glancing at me. "Has she a visitor of that sort?" I inquired, perplexed. "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 toher, and be very sure you are polite. " "Ah, she is so sensitive?" The minister's wife jumped up and dropped me a curtsey, a most ironicalcurtsey. "That's what she is, if you please. She's a countess!" And pronouncing this word with the most scathing accent, the littlewoman seemed fairly to laugh in the Countess's face. I stood a moment, staring, wondering, remembering. "Oh, I shall be very polite!" I cried; and grasping my hat and stick, Iwent on my way. I found Miss Spencer's residence without difficulty. The Baptist churchwas easily identified, and the small dwelling near it, of a rustywhite, with a large central chimney-stack and a Virginia creeper, seemednaturally and properly the abode of a frugal old maid with a taste forthe picturesque. As I approached I slackened my pace, for I had heardthat some one was always sitting in the front yard, and I wishedto reconnoitre. I looked cautiously over the low white fence whichseparated the small garden-space from the unpaved street; but I descriednothing in the shape of a countess. A small straight path led up to thecrooked 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 beneathone of the quince-trees were placed a small table and a couple ofchairs. On the table lay a piece of unfinished embroidery and two orthree books in bright-colored paper covers. I went in at the gate andpaused halfway along the path, scanning the place for some farthertoken of its occupant, before whom--I could hardly have said why--Ihesitated abruptly to present myself. Then I saw that the poor littlehouse was very shabby. I felt a sudden doubt of my right to intrude;for curiosity had been my motive, and curiosity here seemed singularlyindelicate. While I hesitated, a figure appeared in the open doorway andstood there looking at me. I immediately recognized Caroline Spencer, but she looked at me as if she had never seen me before. Gently, butgravely and timidly, I advanced to the doorstep, and then I said, withan attempt at friendly badinage, -- "I waited for you over there to come back, but you never came. " "Waited where, sir?" she asked softly, and her light-colored eyesexpanded more than before. She was much older; she looked tired and wasted. "Well, " I said, "I waited at Havre. " She stared; then she recognized me. She smiled and blushed and claspedher two hands together. "I remember you now, " she said. "I remember thatday. " But she stood there, neither coming out nor asking me to come in. She was embarrassed. I, too, felt a little awkward. I poked my stick into the path. "I keptlooking out for you, year after year, " I said. "You mean in Europe?" murmured Miss Spencer. "In Europe, of course! Here, apparently, you are easy enough to find. " She leaned her hand against the unpainted doorpost, and her head fell alittle to one side. She looked at me for a moment without speaking, andI thought I recognized the expression that one sees in women's eyeswhen tears are rising. Suddenly she stepped out upon the cracked slabof stone before the threshold and closed the door behind her. Then shebegan to smile intently, and I saw that her teeth were as pretty asever. But there had been tears too. "Have you been there ever since?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "Until three weeks ago. And you--you never came back?" Still looking at me with her fixed smile, she put her hand behind herand opened the door again. "I am not very polite, " she said. "Won't youcome in?" "I am afraid I incommode you. " "Oh, no!" she answered, smiling more than ever. And she pushed back thedoor, with a sign that I should enter. I went in, following her. She led the way to a small room on the left ofthe narrow hall, which I supposed to be her parlor, though it was at theback of the house, and we passed the closed door of another apartmentwhich apparently enjoyed a view of the quince-trees. This one lookedout upon a small woodshed and two clucking hens. But I thought it verypretty, until I saw that its elegance was of the most frugal kind; afterwhich, presently, I thought it prettier still, for I had never seenfaded chintz and old mezzotint engravings, framed in varnished autumnleaves, disposed in so graceful a fashion. Miss Spencer sat down on avery small portion of the sofa, with her hands tightly clasped in herlap. She looked ten years older, and it would have souuded very perversenow to speak of her as pretty. But I thought her so; or at least Ithought her touching. She was peculiarly agitated. I tried to appear notto notice it; but suddenly, in the most inconsequent fashion, --it was anirresistible memory of our little friendship at Havre, --I said to her, "I do incommode you. You are distressed. " She raised her two hands to her face, and for a moment kept it buried inthem. Then, taking them away, --"It's because you remind me--" she said. "I remind you, you mean, of that miserable day at Havre?" She shook her head. "It was not miserable. It was delightful. " "I never was so shocked as when, on going back to your inn the nextmorning, I found you had set sail again. " She was silent a moment; and then she said, "Please let us not speak ofthat. " "Did you come straight back here?" I asked. "I was back here just thirty days after I had gone away. " "And here you have remained ever since?" "Oh, yes!" she said gently. "When are you going to Europe again?" This question seemed brutal; but there was something that irritated mein the softness of her resignation, and I wished to extort from her someexpression of impatience. 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 obliterateit. Presently, in the same mild voice, answering my question, she said, "Never!" "I hope your cousin repaid you your money. " "I don't care for it now, " she said, looking away from me. "You don't care for your money?" "For going to Europe. " "Do you mean that you would not go if you could?" "I can't--I can't, " said Caroline Spencer. "It is all over; I neverthink of it. " "He never repaid you, then!" I exclaimed. "Please--please, " she began. But she stopped; she was looking toward the door. There had been arustling aud a sound of steps in the hall. I also looked toward the door, which was open, and now admitted anotherperson, a lady, who paused just within the threshold. Behind her camea young man. The lady looked at me with a good deal of fixedness, longenough for my glance to receive a vivid impression of herself. Thenshe turned to Caroline Spencer, and, with a smile and a strong foreignaccent, -- "Excuse my interruption!" she said. "I knew not you had company, thegentleman came in so quietly. " With this she directed her eyes toward me again. She was very strange; yet my first feeling was that I had seen herbefore. Then I perceived that I had only seen ladies who were very muchlike her. But I had seen them very far away from Grimwinter, and it wasan odd sensation to be seeing her here. Whither was it the sight of herseemed to transport me? To some dusky landing before a shabby Parisian_quatrième_, --to an open door revealing a greasy antechamber, and toMadame leaning over the banisters, while she holds a faded dressing-gowntogether and bawls down to the portress to bring up her coffee. MissSpencer's visitor was a very large woman, of middle age, with a plump, dead-white face, and hair drawn back _a la chinoise_. She had a smallpenetrating eye, and what is called in French an agreeable smile. She wore an old pink cashmere dressing-gown, covered with whiteembroideries, and, like the figure in my momentary vision, she washolding it together in front with a bare and rounded arm and a plump anddeeply dimpled hand. "It is only to spick about my _café_, " she said to Miss Spencer, withher agreeable smile. "I should like it served in the garden under theleetle tree. " The young man behind her had now stepped into the room, and he alsostood looking at me. He was a pretty-faced little fellow, with an airof provincial foppishness, --a tiny Adonis of Grimwinter. He had asmall pointed nose, a small pointed chin, and, as I observed, the mostdiminutive feet. He looked at me foolishly, with his mouth open. "You shall have your coffee, " said Miss Spencer, who had a faint redspot in each of her cheeks. "It is well!" said the lady in the dressing-gown. "Find your bouk, " sheadded, turning to the young man. He gazed vaguely round the room. "My grammar, d 'ye mean?" he asked, with a helpless intonation. But the large lady was inspecting me, curiously, and gathering in herdressing-gown with her white arm. "Find your bouk, my friend, " she repeated. "My poetry, d 'ye mean?" said the young man, also staring at me again. "Never mind your bouk, " said his companion. "To-day we will talk. Wewill make some conversation. But we must not interrupt. Come;" and sheturned away. "Under the leetle tree, " she added, for the benefit of MissSpencer. Then she gave me a sort of salutation, and a "Monsieur!" with which sheswept away again, followed by the young man. Caroline Spencer stood there with her eyes fixed upon the ground. "Who is that?" I asked. "The Countess, my cousin. " "And who is the young man?" "Her pupil, Mr. Mixter. " This description of the relation between the two persons who had justleft the room made me break into a little laugh. Miss Spencer looked atme gravely. "She gives French lessons; she has lost her fortune. " "I see, " I said. "She is determined to be a burden to no one. That isvery proper. " Miss Spencer looked down on the ground again, "I must go and get thecoffee, " she said. "Has the lady many pupils?" I asked. "She has only Mr. Mixter. She gives all her time to him. " At this I could not laugh, though I smelt provocation; Miss Spencer wastoo grave. "He pays very well, " she presently added, with simplicity. "He is very rich. He is very kind. He takes the Countess to drive. " Andshe was turning away. "You are going for the Countess's coffee?" I said. "If you will excuse me a few moments. " "Is there no one else to do it?" She looked at me with the softest serenity. "I keep no servants. " "Can she not wait upon herself?" "She is not used to that. " "I see, " said I, as gently as possible. "But before you go, tell methis: who is this lady?" "I told you about her before--that day. She is the wife of my cousin, whom you saw. " "The lady who was disowned by her family in consequence of hermarriage?" "Yes; they have never seen her again. They have cast her off. " "And where is her husband?" "He is dead. " "And where is your money?" The poor girl flinched; there was something too consistent in myquestions. "I don't know, " she said wearily. But I continued a moment. "On her husband's death this lady came overhere?" "Yes, she arrived one day. " "How long ago?" "Two years. " "She has been here ever since?" "Every moment. " "How does she like it?" "Not at all. " "And how do _you_ like it?" Miss Spencer laid her face in her two hands an instant, as she had doneten minutes before. Then, quickly, she went to get the Countess's coffee. I remained alone in the little parlor; I wanted to see more, to learnmore. At the end of five minutes the young man whom Miss Spencer haddescribed as the Countess's pupil came in. He stood looking at me for amoment with parted lips. I saw he was a very rudimentary young man. "She wants to know if you won't come out there, " he observed at last. "Who wants to know?" "The Countess. That French lady. " "She has asked you to bring me?" "Yes, sir, " said the young man feebly, looking at my six feet ofstature. I went out with him, and we found the Countess sitting under one ofthe little quince-trees in front of the house. She was drawing a needlethrough the piece of embroidery which she had taken from the smalltable. She pointed graciously to the chair beside her, and I seatedmyself. Mr. Mixter glanced about him, and then sat down in the grass ather feet. He gazed upward, looking with parted lips from the Countessto me. "I am sure you speak French, " said the Countess, fixing herbrilliant little eyes upon me. "I do, madam, after a fashion, " I answered in the lady's own tongue. "_Voilà!_" she cried most expressively. "I knew it so soon as I lookedat you. You have been in my poor dear country. " "A long time. " "You know Paris?" "Thoroughly, madam. " And with a certain conscious purpose I let my eyesmeet her own. She presently, hereupon, moved her own and glanced down at Mr. Mixter"What are we talking about?" she demanded of her attentive pupil. He pulled his knees up, plucked at the grass with his hand, stared, blushed a little. "You are talking French, " said Mr. Mixter. "_La belle découverte!_" said the Countess. "Here are ten months, " sheexplained to me, "that I am giving him lessons. Don't put yourself outnot to say he's an idiot; he won't understand you. " "I hope your other pupils are more gratifying, " I remarked. "I have no others. They don't know what French is in this place; theydon't want to know. You may therefore imagine the pleasure it is to meto meet a person who speaks it like yourself. " I replied that my ownpleasure was not less; and she went on drawing her stitches throughher embroidery, with her little finger curled out. Every few momentsshe put her eyes close to her work, nearsightedly. I thought her a verydisagreeable person; she was coarse, affected, dishonest, and no more acountess than I was a caliph. "Talk to me of Paris, " she went on. "Thevery name of it gives me an emotion! How long since you were there?" "Two months ago. " "Happy man! Tell me something about it What were they doing? Oh, for anhour of the boulevard!" "They were doing about what they are always doing, --amusing themselves agood deal. " "At the theatres, eh?" sighed the Countess. "At the _cafés-concerts_, atthe little tables in front of the doors? _Quelle existence!_ You know Iam a Parisienne, monsieur, " she added, "to my fingertips. " "Miss Spencer was mistaken, then, " I ventured to rejoin, "in telling methat you are a Provençale. " She stared a moment, then she put her nose to her embroidery, which hada dingy, desultory aspect. "Ah, I am a Provençale by birth; but I am aParisienne by--inclination. " "And by experience, I suppose?" I said. 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 _this_ in store for me. " And she pointed with herbare elbow, and with a jerk of her head, at everything that surroundedher, --at the little white house, the quince-tree, the rickety paling, even at Mr. Mixter. "You are in exile!" I said, smiling. "You may imagine what it is! These two years that I have been here Ihave passed hours--hours! One gets used to things, and sometimes Ithink I have got used to this. But there are some things that are alwaysbeginning over again. For example, my coffee. " "Do you always have coffee at this hour?" I inquired. She tossed back her head and measured me. "At what hour would you prefer me to have it? I must have my little cupafter breakfast. " "Ah, you breakfast at this hour?" "At midday--_comme cela se fait_. Here they breakfast at a quarter pastseven! That 'quarter past' is charming!" "But you were telling me about your _coffee?_ I observedsympathetically. "My _cousine_ can't believe in it; she can't understand it. She's anexcellent girl; but that little cup of black coffee, with a drop ofcognac, served at this hour, --they exceed her comprehension. So I haveto break the ice every day, and it takes the coffee the time you see toarrive. And when it arrives, monsieur! If I don't offer you any of ityou must not take it ill. It will be because I know you have drunk it onthe boulevard. " I resented extremely this scornful treatment of poor Caroline Spencer'shumble hospitality; but I said nothing, in order to say nothing uncivil. I only looked on Mr. Mixter, who had clasped his arms round hisknees and was watching my companion's demonstrative graces in solemnfascination. She presently saw that I was observing him; she glanced atme with a little bold explanatory smile. "You know, he adores me, " shemurmured, putting her nose into her tapestry again. I expressed thepromptest 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 sixmonths. But ever since that he has thought himself the hero, and methe heroine!" Mr. Mixter had evidently not an idea that he was being talked about; hewas too preoccupied with the ecstasy of contemplation. At this momentCaroline Spencer came out of the house, bearing a coffee-pot on a littletray. I noticed that on her way from the door to the table she gave me asingle quick, vaguely appealing glance. I wondered what it signified; Ifelt 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 theCountess was very possibly the runaway wife of a little hair-dresser. Itried suddenly, on the contrary, to show a high consideration forher. But I got up; I could n't stay longer. It vexed me to see CarolineSpencer standing there like a waiting-maid. "You expect to remain some time at Grimwinter?" I said to the Countess. She gave a terrible shrug. "Who knows? Perhaps for years. When one is in misery!--_Chere belle_"she added, turning to Miss Spencer, "you have forgotten the cognac!" I detained Caroline Spencer as, after looking a moment in silence at thelittle table, she was turning away to procure this missing delicacy. Isilently gave her my hand in farewell. She looked very tired, but therewas a strange hint of prospective patience in her severely mild littleface. I thought she was rather glad I was going. Mr. Mixter had risen tohis feet and was pouring out the Countess's coffee. As I went back pastthe Baptist church I reflected that poor Miss Spencer had been right inher presentiment that she should still see something of that dear oldEurope.