CHAPTER XIX.

ion,werecheckedbytheplashingoflargerain-dropsonourfacesandonthepath,andbythemutteringofadistantbutcomingstorm.ThewarningobviousinstagnantairandleadenskyhadalreadyinducedmetotaketheroadleadingbacktoBrussels,andnowIhastenedmyownstepsandthoseofmycompanion,and,asourwaylaydownhill,wegotonrapidly.TherewasanintervalafterthefallofthefirstbroaddropsbeforeheavyraincameoninthemeantimewehadpassedthroughthePortedeLouvain,andwereagaininthecity. “Wheredoyoulive?”Iasked“Iwillseeyousafehome.” “RueNotreDameauxNeiges,”answeredFrances. ItwasnotfarfromtheRuedeLouvain,andwestoodonthedoorstepsofthehousewesoughteretheclouds,severingwithloudpealandshatteredcataractoflightning,emptiedtheirlividfoldsinatorrent,heavy,prone,andbroad. “Comein!comein!”saidFrances,as,afterputtingherintothehouse,IpausedereIfollowed:theworddecidedmeIsteppedacrossthethreshold,shutthedoorontherushing,flashing,whiteningstorm,andfollowedherupstairstoherapartments.NeithershenorIwerewetaprojectionoverthedoorhadwardedoffthestraight-descendingfloodnonebutthefirst,largedropshadtouchedourgarmentsoneminutemoreandweshouldnothavehadadrythreadonus. Steppingoveralittlematofgreenwool,Ifoundmyselfinasmallroomwithapaintedfloorandasquareofgreencarpetinthemiddlethearticlesoffurniturewerefew,butallbrightandexquisitelycleanorderreignedthroughitsnarrowlimits—suchorderasitsoothedmypunctilioussoultobehold.AndIhadhesitatedtoentertheabode,becauseIapprehendedafterallthatMdlle.Reuter’shintaboutitsextremepovertymightbetoowell-founded,andIfearedtoembarrassthelace-menderbyenteringherlodgingsunawares!Poortheplacemightbepoortrulyitwasbutitsneatnesswasbetterthanelegance,andhadbutabrightlittlefireshoneonthatcleanhearth,Ishouldhavedeemeditmoreattractivethanapalace.Nofirewasthere,however,andnofuellaidreadytolightthelace-menderwasunabletoallowherselfthatindulgence,especiallynowwhen,deprivedbydeathofhersolerelative,shehadonlyherownunaidedexertionstorelyon.Franceswentintoaninnerroomtotakeoffherbonnet,andshecameoutamodeloffrugalneatness,withherwell-fittingblackstuffdress,soaccuratelydefiningherelegantbustandtaperwaist,withherspotlesswhitecollarturnedbackfromafairandshapelyneck,withherplenteousbrownhairarrangedinsmoothbandsonhertemples,andinalargeGrecianplaitbehind:ornamentsshehadnone—neitherbrooch,ring,norribbonshedidwellenoughwithoutthem—perfectionoffit,proportionofform,graceofcarriage,agreeablysuppliedtheirplace.Hereye,asshere-enteredthesmallsitting-room,instantlysoughtmine,whichwasjustthenlingeringonthehearthIknewshereadatoncethesortofinwardruthandpityingpainwhichthechillvacancyofthathearthstirredinmysoul:quicktopenetrate,quicktodetermine,andquickertoputinpractice,shehadinamomenttiedahollandapronroundherwaistthenshedisappeared,andreappearedwithabasketithadacoversheopenedit,andproducedwoodandcoaldeftlyandcompactlyshearrangedtheminthegrate. “Itisherwholestock,andshewillexhaustitoutofhospitality,”thoughtI. “Whatareyougoingtodo?”Iasked:“notsurelytolightafirethishotevening?Ishallbesmothered.” “Indeed,monsieur,Ifeelitverychillysincetherainbeganbesides,Imustboilthewaterformytea,forItaketeaonSundaysyouwillbeobligedtotryandbeartheheat.” Shehadstruckalightthewoodwasalreadyinablazeandtruly,whencontrastedwiththedarkness,thewildtumultofthetempestwithout,thatpeacefulglowwhichbegantobeamonthenowanimatedhearth,seemedverycheering.Alow,purringsound,fromsomequarter,announcedthatanotherbeing,besidesmyself,waspleasedwiththechangeablackcat,rousedbythelightfromitssleeponalittlecushionedfoot-stool,cameandrubbeditsheadagainstFrances’gownasshekneltshecaressedit,sayingithadbeenafavouritewithher“pauvretanteJulienne.” Thefirebeinglit,thehearthswept,andasmallkettleofaveryantiquepattern,suchasIthoughtIrememberedtohaveseeninoldfarmhousesinEngland,placedoverthenowruddyflame,Frances’handswerewashed,andherapronremovedinaninstantthensheopenedacupboard,andtookoutatea-tray,onwhichshehadsoonarrangedachinatea-equipage,whosepattern,shape,andsize,denotedaremoteantiquityalittle,old-fashionedsilverspoonwasdepositedineachsaucerandapairofsilvertongs,equallyold-fashioned,werelaidonthesugar-basinfromthecupboard,too,wasproducedatidysilvercream-ewer,notlargerthenanegg-shell.Whilemakingthesepreparations,shechancedtolookup,and,readingcuriosityinmyeyes,shesmiledandasked— “IsthislikeEngland,monsieur?” “LiketheEnglandofahundredyearsago,”Ireplied. “Isittruly?Well,everythingonthistrayisatleastahundredyearsold:thesecups,thesespoons,thisewer,areallheirloomsmygreat-grandmotherleftthemtomygrandmother,shetomymother,andmymotherbroughtthemwithherfromEnglandtoSwitzerland,andleftthemtomeand,eversinceIwasalittlegirl,IhavethoughtIshouldliketocarrythembacktoEngland,whencetheycame.” Sheputsomepistoletsonthetableshemadethetea,asforeignersdomaketea—i.e.,attherateofateaspoonfultohalf-a-dozencupssheplacedmeachair,and,asItookit,sheasked,withasortofexaltation— “Willitmakeyouthinkyourselfathomeforamoment?” “IfIhadahomeinEngland,Ibelieveitwouldrecallit,”Iansweredand,intruth,therewasasortofillusioninseeingthefair-complexionedEnglish-lookinggirlpresidingattheEnglishmeal,andspeakingintheEnglishlanguage. “Youhavethennohome?”washerremark. “None,noreverhavehad.IfeverIpossessahome,itmustbeofmyownmaking,andthetaskisyettobegin.”And,asIspoke,apang,newtome,shotacrossmyheart:itwasapangofmortificationatthehumilityofmyposition,andtheinadequacyofmymeanswhilewiththatpangwasbornastrongdesiretodomore,earnmore,bemore,possessmoreandintheincreasedpossessions,myrousedandeagerspiritpantedtoincludethehomeIhadneverhad,thewifeIinwardlyvowedtowin. Frances’teawaslittlebetterthanhotwater,sugar,andmilkandherpistolets,withwhichshecouldnotoffermebutter,weresweettomypalateasmanna. Therepastover,andthetreasuredplateandporcelainbeingwashedandputby,thebrighttablerubbedstillbrighter,“lechatdematanteJulienne”alsobeingfedwithprovisionsbroughtforthonaplateforitsspecialuse,afewstraycinders,andascatteringofashestoo,beingsweptfromthehearth,Francesatlastsatdownandthen,asshetookachairoppositetome,shebetrayed,forthefirsttime,alittleembarrassmentandnowonder,forindeedIhadunconsciouslywatchedherrathertooclosely,followedallherstepsandallhermovementsalittletooperseveringlywithmyeyes,forshemesmerizedmebythegraceandalertnessofheraction—bythedeft,cleanly,andevendecorativeeffectresultingfromeachtouchofherslightandfinefingersandwhen,atlast,shesubsidedtostillness,theintelligenceofherfaceseemedbeautytome,andIdweltonitaccordingly.Hercolour,however,rising,ratherthansettlingwithrepose,andhereyesremainingdowncast,thoughIkeptwaitingforthelidstoberaisedthatImightdrinkarayofthelightIloved—alightwherefiredissolvedinsoftness,whereaffectiontemperedpenetration,where,justnowatleast,pleasureplayedwiththought—thisexpectationnotbeinggratified,IbeganatlasttosuspectthatIhadprobablymyselftoblameforthedisappointmentImustceasegazing,andbegintalking,ifIwishedtobreakthespellunderwhichshenowsatmotionlesssorecollectingthecomposingeffectwhichanauthoritativetoneandmannerhadeverbeenwonttoproduceonher,Isaid— “GetoneofyourEnglishbooks,mademoiselle,fortherainyetfallsheavily,andwillprobabl