Madame Merle was very pale; her own eyes covered Isabel's face.She might see what she would, but her danger was over.Isabel would never accuse her, never reproach her; perhaps because she never would give her the opportunity to defend herself.
"I'm come to bid Pansy good-bye," our young woman said at last."Igo to England to-night."
"Go to England to-night!" Madame Merle repeated sitting 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 recognition 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 Iknow, 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 recognized Madame Catherine, whose acquaintance she had already made, and begged that she would immediately let her see Miss Osmond.Madame Catherine looked doubly discreet, but smiled very blandly and said: "It will be good for her to see you.I'll take you to her myself" Then she directed her pleased guarded vision to Madame Merle.
"Will you let me remain a little?" this lady asked."It's so good to be here.""You may remain always if you like!" And the good sister gave a knowing laugh.
She led Isabel out of the room, through several corridors, and up a long staircase.All these departments were solid and bare, light and clean; so, thought Isabel, are the great penal establishments.
Madame Catherine gently pushed open the door of Pansy's room and ushered in the visitor; then stood smiling with folded hands while the two others met and embraced.
"She's glad to see you," she repeated; "it will do her good." And she placed the best chair carefully for Isabel.But she made no movement to seat herself; she seemed ready to retire."How does this dear child look?" she asked of Isabel, lingering a moment.
"She looks pale," Isabel answered.
"That's the pleasure of seeing you.She's very happy.Elle eclaire la maison," said the good sister.
Pansy wore, as Madame Merle had said, a little black dress; it was perhaps this that made her look pale."They're very good to me-they think of everything!" she exclaimed with all her customary eagerness to accommodate.
"We think of you always-you're a precious charge," Madame Catherine remarked in the tone of a woman with whom benevolence was a habit and whose conception of duty was the acceptance of every care.
It fell with a leaden weight on Isabel's ears; it seemed to represent the surrender of a personality, the authority of the Church.
When Madame Catherine had left them together Pansy kneeled down and hid her head in her stepmother's lap.So she remained some moments, while Isabel gently stroked her hair.Then she got up, averting her face and looking about the room."Don't you think I've arranged it well? I've everything I have at home.""It's very pretty; you're very comfortable." Isabel scarcely knew what she could say to her.On the one hand she couldn't let her think she had come to pity her, and on the other it would be a dull mockery to pretend to rejoice with her.So she simply added after a moment: "I've come to bid you good-bye.I'm going to England."Pansy's white little face turned red."To England! Not to come back?""I don't know when I shall come back."
"Ah, I'm sorry," Pansy breathed with faintness.She spoke as if she had no right to criticize; but her tone expressed a depth of disappointment.
"My cousin, Mr.Touchett, is very ill; he'll probably die.I wish to see him," Isabel said.
"Ah yes; you told me he would die.Of course you must go.And will papa go?""No; I shall go alone."
For a moment the girl said nothing.Isabel had often wondered what she thought of the apparent relations of her father with his wife; but never by a glance, by an intimation, had she let it be seen that she deemed them deficient in an air of intimacy.She made her reflexions, Isabel was sure; and she must have had a conviction that there were husbands and wives who were more intimate than that.But Pansy was not indiscreet even in thought; she would as little have ventured to judge her gentle stepmother as to criticize her magnificent father.Her heart may have stood almost as still as it would have done had she seen two of the saints in the great picture in the convent-chapel turn their painted heads and shake them at each other.But as in this latter case she would (for very solemnity's sake) never have mentioned the awful phenomenon, so she put away all knowledge of the secrets of larger lives than her own."You'll be very far away," she presently went on.
"Yes; I shall be far away.But it will scarcely matter," Isabel explained; "since so long as you're here I can't be called near you.""Yes, but you can come and see me; though you've not come very often.""I've not come because your father forbade it.To-day I bring nothing with me.I can't amuse you.""I'm not to be amused.That's not what papa wishes.""Then it hardly matters whether I'm in Rome or in England.""You're not happy, Mrs.Osmond," said Pansy.
"Not very.But it doesn't matter."