Page 782 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘I’m come to bid Pansy good-bye,’ our young woman said
at last. ‘I go to England to-night.’
‘Go to England to-night!’ Madame Merle repeated sit-
ting there and looking up at her.
‘I’m going to Gardencourt. Ralph Touchett’s dying.’
‘Ah, you’ll feel that.’ Madame Merle recovered herself;
she had a chance to express sympathy. ‘Do you go alone?’
‘Yes; without my husband.’
Madame Merle gave a low vague murmur; a sort of rec-
ognition of the general sadness of things. ‘Mr. Touchett
never liked me, but I’m sorry he’s dying. Shall you see his
mother?’
‘Yes; she has returned from America.’
‘She used to be very kind to me; but she has changed.
Others too have changed,’ said Madame Merle with a quiet
noble pathos. She paused a moment, then added: ‘And you’ll
see dear old Gardencourt again!’
‘I shall not enjoy it much,’ Isabel answered.
‘Naturally-in your grief. But it’s on the whole, of all the
houses I know, and I know many, the one I should have
liked best to live in. I don’t venture to send a message to the
people,’ Madame Merle added; ‘but I should like to give my
love to the place.’
Isabel turned away. ‘I had better go to Pansy. I’ve not
much time.’
When she looked about her for the proper egress, the
door opened and admitted one of the ladies of the house,
who advanced with a discreet smile, gently rubbing, under
her long loose sleeves, a pair of plump white hands. Isabel

782 The Portrait of a Lady