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said in French and almost familiarly: ‘Eh, bien, chere Ma-
dame, qu’en pensez-vous?’
‘About my step-daughter? Oh, it would take long to tell
you.’
‘We think it’s enough,’ Madame Catherine distinctly ob-
served. And she pushed open the door of the parlour.
Madame Merle was sitting just as Isabel had left her, like
a woman so absorbed in thought that she had not moved
a little finger. As Madame Catherine closed the door she
got up, and Isabel saw that she had been thinking to some
purpose. She had recovered her balance; she was in full pos-
session of her resources. ‘I found I wished to wait for you,’
she said urbanely. ‘But it’s not to talk about Pansy.’
Isabel wondered what it could be to talk about, and in
spite of Madame Merle’s declaration she answered after a
moment: ‘Madame Catherine says it’s enough.’
‘Yes; it also seems to me enough. I wanted to ask you an-
other word about poor Mr. Touchett,’ Madame Merle added.
‘Have you reason to believe that he’s really at his last?’
‘I’ve no information but a telegram. Unfortunately it
only confirms a probability.’
‘I’m going to ask you a strange question,’ said Madame
Merle. ‘Are you very fond of your cousin?’ And she gave a
smile as strange as her utterance.
‘Yes, I’m very fond of him. But I don’t understand you.’
She just hung fire. ‘It’s rather hard to explain. Something
has occurred to me which may not have occurred to you,
and I give you the benefit of my idea. Your cousin did you
once a great service. Have you never guessed it?’

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