CHAPTER XXXVI
One afternoon of the autumn of 1876, toward dusk, a young man ofpleasing appearance rang at the door of a small apartment on the thirdfloor of an old Roman house. On its being opened he enquired for MadameMerle; whereupon the servant, a neat, plain woman, with a French faceand a lady's maid's manner, ushered him into a diminutive drawing-roomand requested the favour of his name. "Mr. Edward Rosier," said theyoung man, who sat down to wait till his hostess should appear.
The reader will perhaps not have forgotten that Mr. Rosier was anornament of the American circle in Paris, but it may also be rememberedthat he sometimes vanished from its horizon. He had spent a portion ofseveral winters at Pau, and as he was a gentleman of constituted habitshe might have continued for years to pay his annual visit to thischarming resort. In the summer of 1876, however, an incident befell himwhich changed the current not only of his thoughts, but of his customarysequences. He passed a month in the Upper Engadine and encountered atSaint Moritz a charming young girl. To this little person he began topay, on the spot, particular attention: she struck him as exactly thehousehold angel he had long been looking for. He was never precipitate,he was nothing if not discreet, so he forbore for the present to declarehis passion but it seemed to him when they parted--the young lady to godown into Italy and her admirer to proceed to Geneva, where he was underbonds to join other friends--that he should be romantically wretched ifhe were not to see her again. The simplest way to do so was to go inthe autumn to Rome, where Miss Osmond was domiciled with her family. Mr.Rosier started on his pilgrimage to the Italian capital and reached iton the first of November. It was a pleasant thing to do, but for theyoung man there was a strain of the heroic in the enterprise. He mightexpose himself, unseasoned, to the poison of the Roman air, which inNovember lay, notoriously, much in wait. Fortune, however, favours thebrave; and this adventurer, who took three grains of quinine a day, hadat the end of a month no cause to deplore his temerity. He had made toa certain extent good use of his time; he had devoted it in vainto finding a flaw in Pansy Osmond's composition. She was admirablyfinished; she had had the last touch; she was really a consummate piece.He thought of her in amorous meditation a good deal as he might havethought of a Dresden-china shepherdess. Miss Osmond, indeed, in thebloom of her juvenility, had a hint of the rococo which Rosier, whosetaste was predominantly for that manner, could not fail to appreciate.That he esteemed the productions of comparatively frivolous periodswould have been apparent from the attention he bestowed upon MadameMerle's drawing-room, which, although furnished with specimens of everystyle, was especially rich in articles of the last two centuries. Hehad immediately put a glass into one eye and looked round; and then "ByJove, she has some jolly good things!" he had yearningly murmured. Theroom was small and densely filled with furniture; it gave an impressionof faded silk and little statuettes which might totter if one moved.Rosier got up and wandered about with his careful tread, bending overthe tables charged with knick-knacks and the cushions embossed withprincely arms. When Madame Merle came in she found him standing beforethe fireplace with his nose very close to the great lace flounceattached to the damask cover of the mantel. He had lifted it delicately,as if he were smelling it.
"It's old Venetian," she said; "it's rather good."
"It's too good for this; you ought to wear it."
"They tell me you have some better in Paris, in the same situation."
"Ah, but I can't wear mine," smiled the visitor.
"I don't see why you shouldn't! I've better lace than that to wear."
His eyes wandered, lingeringly, round the room again. "You've some verygood things."
"Yes, but I hate them."
"Do you want to get rid of them?" the young man quickly asked.
"No, it's good to have something to hate: one works it off!"
"I love my things," said Mr. Rosier as he sat there flushed with all hisrecognitions. "But it's not about them, nor about yours, that I cameto talk to you." He paused a moment and then, with greater softness: "Icare more for Miss Osmond than for all the bibelots in Europe!"
Madame Merle opened wide eyes. "Did you come to tell me that?"
"I came to ask your advice."
She looked at him with a friendly frown, stroking her chin with herlarge white hand. "A man in love, you know, doesn't ask advice."
"Why not, if he's in a difficult position? That's often the case with aman in love. I've been in love before, and I know. But never so much asthis time--really never so much. I should like particularly to know whatyou think of my prospects. I'm afraid that for Mr. Osmond I'm not--well,a real collector's piece."
"Do you wish me to intercede?" Madame Merle asked with her fine armsfolded and her handsome mouth drawn up to the left.
"If you could say a good word for me I should be greatly obliged. Therewill be no use in my troubling Miss Osmond unless I have good reason tobelieve her father will consent."
"You're very considerate; that's in your favour. But you assume inrather an off-hand way that I think you a prize."
"You've been very kind to me," said the young man. "That's why I came."
"I'm always kind to people who have good Louis Quatorze. It's very rarenow, and there's no telling what one may get by it." With which theleft-hand corner of Madame Merle's mouth gave expression to the joke.
But he looked, in spite of it, literally apprehensive and consistentlystrenuous. "Ah, I thought you liked me for myself!"
"I like you very much; but, if you please, we won't analyse. Pardon meif I seem patronising, but I think you a perfect little gentleman. Imust tell you, however, that I've not the marrying of Pansy Osmond."
"I didn't suppose that. But you've seemed to me intimate with herfamily, and I thought you might have influence."
Madame Merle considered. "Whom do you call her family?"
"Why, her father; and--how do you say it in English?--her belle-mere."
"Mr. Osmond's her father, certainly; but his wife can scarcely be termeda member of her family. Mrs. Osmond has nothing to do with marryingher."
"I'm sorry for that," said Rosier with an amiable sigh of good faith. "Ithink Mrs. Osmond would favour me."
"Very likely--if her husband doesn't."
He raised his eyebrows. "Does she take the opposite line from him?"
"In everything. They think quite differently."
"Well," said Rosier, "I'm sorry for that; but it's none of my business.She's very fond of Pansy."
"Yes, she's very fond of Pansy."
"And Pansy has a great affection for her. She has told me how she lovesher as if she were her own mother."
"You must, after all, have had some very intimate talk with the poorchild," said Madame Merle. "Have you declared your sentiments?"
"Never!" cried Rosier, lifting his neatly-gloved hand. "Never till I'veassured myself of those of the parents."
"You always wait for that? You've excellent principles; you observe theproprieties."
"I think you're laughing at me," the young man murmured, dropping backin his chair and feeling his small moustache. "I didn't expect that ofyou, Madame Merle."
She shook her head calmly, like a person who saw things as she saw them."You don't do me justice. I think your conduct in excellent taste andthe best you could adopt. Yes, that's what I think."
"I wouldn't agitate her--only to agitate her; I love her too much forthat," said Ned Rosier.
"I'm glad, after all, that you've told me," Madame Merle went on. "Leaveit to me a little; I think I can help you."
"I said you were the person to come to!" her visitor cried with promptelation.
"You were very clever," Madame Merle returned more dryly. "When I say Ican help you I mean once assuming your cause to be good. Let us think alittle if it is."
"I'm awfully decent, you know," said Rosier earnestly. "I won't say I'veno faults, but I'll say I've no vices."
"All that's negative, and it always depends, also, on what people callvices. What
's the positive side? What's the virtuous? What have you gotbesides your Spanish lace and your Dresden teacups?"
"I've a comfortable little fortune--about forty thousand francs a year.With the talent I have for arranging, we can live beautifully on such anincome."
"Beautifully, no. Sufficiently, yes. Even that depends on where youlive."
"Well, in Paris. I would undertake it in Paris."
Madame Merle's mouth rose to the left. "It wouldn't be famous; you'dhave to make use of the teacups, and they'd get broken."
"We don't want to be famous. If Miss Osmond should have everythingpretty it would be enough. When one's as pretty as she one canafford--well, quite cheap faience. She ought never to wear anything butmuslin--without the sprig," said Rosier reflectively.
"Wouldn't you even allow her the sprig? She'd be much obliged to you atany rate for that theory."
"It's the correct one, I assure you; and I'm sure she'd enter into it.She understands all that; that's why I love her."
"She's a very good little girl, and most tidy--also extremely graceful.But her father, to the best of my belief, can give her nothing."
Rosier scarce demurred. "I don't in the least desire that he should. ButI may remark, all the same, that he lives like a rich man."
"The money's his wife's; she brought him a large fortune."
"Mrs. Osmond then is very fond of her stepdaughter; she may dosomething."
"For a love-sick swain you have your eyes about you!" Madame Merleexclaimed with a laugh.
"I esteem a dot very much. I can do without it, but I esteem it."
"Mrs. Osmond," Madame Merle went on, "will probably prefer to keep hermoney for her own children."
"Her own children? Surely she has none."
"She may have yet. She had a poor little boy, who died two years ago,six months after his birth. Others therefore may come."
"I hope they will, if it will make her happy. She's a splendid woman."
Madame Merle failed to burst into speech. "Ah, about her there's much tobe said. Splendid as you like! We've not exactly made out that you're aparti. The absence of vices is hardly a source of income.
"Pardon me, I think it may be," said Rosier quite lucidly.
"You'll be a touching couple, living on your innocence!"
"I think you underrate me."
"You're not so innocent as that? Seriously," said Madame Merle,"of course forty thousand francs a year and a nice character are acombination to be considered. I don't say it's to be jumped at, butthere might be a worse offer. Mr. Osmond, however, will probably inclineto believe he can do better."
"HE can do so perhaps; but what can his daughter do? She can't do betterthan marry the man she loves. For she does, you know," Rosier addedeagerly.
"She does--I know it."
"Ah," cried the young man, "I said you were the person to come to."
"But I don't know how you know it, if you haven't asked her," MadameMerle went on.
"In such a case there's no need of asking and telling; as you say, we'rean innocent couple. How did YOU know it?"
"I who am not innocent? By being very crafty. Leave it to me; I'll findout for you."
Rosier got up and stood smoothing his hat. "You say that rather coldly.Don't simply find out how it is, but try to make it as it should be."
"I'll do my best. I'll try to make the most of your advantages."
"Thank you so very much. Meanwhile then I'll say a word to Mrs. Osmond."
"Gardez-vous-en bien!" And Madame Merle was on her feet. "Don't set hergoing, or you'll spoil everything."
Rosier gazed into his hat; he wondered whether his hostess HAD beenafter all the right person to come to. "I don't think I understandyou. I'm an old friend of Mrs. Osmond, and I think she would like me tosucceed."
"Be an old friend as much as you like; the more old friends she has thebetter, for she doesn't get on very well with some of her new. But don'tfor the present try to make her take up the cudgels for you. Her husbandmay have other views, and, as a person who wishes her well, I advise younot to multiply points of difference between them."
Poor Rosier's face assumed an expression of alarm; a suit for the handof Pansy Osmond was even a more complicated business than his tastefor proper transitions had allowed. But the extreme good sense whichhe concealed under a surface suggesting that of a careful owner's "bestset" came to his assistance. "I don't see that I'm bound to consider Mr.Osmond so very much!" he exclaimed. "No, but you should consider HER.You say you're an old friend. Would you make her suffer?"
"Not for the world."
"Then be very careful, and let the matter alone till I've taken a fewsoundings."
"Let the matter alone, dear Madame Merle? Remember that I'm in love."
"Oh, you won't burn up! Why did you come to me, if you're not to heedwhat I say?"
"You're very kind; I'll be very good," the young man promised. "But I'mafraid Mr. Osmond's pretty hard," he added in his mild voice as he wentto the door.
Madame Merle gave a short laugh. "It has been said before. But his wifeisn't easy either."
"Ah, she's a splendid woman!" Ned Rosier repeated, for departure.He resolved that his conduct should be worthy of an aspirant who wasalready a model of discretion but he saw nothing in any pledge hehad given Madame Merle that made it improper he should keep himselfin spirits by an occasional visit to Miss Osmond's home. He reflectedconstantly on what his adviser had said to him, and turned over in hismind the impression of her rather circumspect tone. He had gone to herde confiance, as they put it in Paris; but it was possible he had beenprecipitate. He found difficulty in thinking of himself as rash--he hadincurred this reproach so rarely; but it certainly was true that he hadknown Madame Merle only for the last month, and that his thinking hera delightful woman was not, when one came to look into it, a reason forassuming that she would be eager to push Pansy Osmond into his arms,gracefully arranged as these members might be to receive her. She hadindeed shown him benevolence, and she was a person of considerationamong the girl's people, where she had a rather striking appearance(Rosier had more than once wondered how she managed it) of beingintimate without being familiar. But possibly he had exaggerated theseadvantages. There was no particular reason why she should take troublefor him; a charming woman was charming to every one, and Rosier feltrather a fool when he thought of his having appealed to her on theground that she had distinguished him. Very likely--though she hadappeared to say it in joke--she was really only thinking of hisbibelots. Had it come into her head that he might offer her two or threeof the gems of his collection? If she would only help him to marry MissOsmond he would present her with his whole museum. He could hardly sayso to her outright; it would seem too gross a bribe. But he should likeher to believe it.
It was with these thoughts that he went again to Mrs. Osmond's,Mrs. Osmond having an "evening"--she had taken the Thursday of eachweek--when his presence could be accounted for on general principles ofcivility. The object of Mr. Rosier's well-regulated affection dwelt ina high house in the very heart of Rome; a dark and massive structureoverlooking a sunny piazzetta in the neighbourhood of the FarnesePalace. In a palace, too, little Pansy lived--a palace by Roman measure,but a dungeon to poor Rosier's apprehensive mind. It seemed to him ofevil omen that the young lady he wished to marry, and whose fastidiousfather he doubted of his ability to conciliate, should be immured ina kind of domestic fortress, a pile which bore a stern old Roman name,which smelt of historic deeds, of crime and craft and violence, whichwas mentioned in "Murray" and visited by tourists who looked, on a vaguesurvey, disappointed and depressed, and which had frescoes by Caravaggioin the piano nobile and a row of mutilated statues and dusty urns in thewide, nobly-arched loggia overhanging the damp court where a fountaingushed out of a mossy niche. In a less preoccupied frame of mind hecould have done justice to the Palazzo Roccanera; he could have enteredinto the sentiment of Mrs. Osmond, who had once told him that onsettling themselves in Rome she and her husband had
chosen thishabitation for the love of local colour. It had local colour enough,and though he knew less about architecture than about Limoges enamelshe could see that the proportions of the windows and even the detailsof the cornice had quite the grand air. But Rosier was haunted by theconviction that at picturesque periods young girls had been shut upthere to keep them from their true loves, and then, under the threat ofbeing thrown into convents, had been forced into unholy marriages. Therewas one point, however, to which he always did justice when once hefound himself in Mrs. Osmond's warm, rich-looking reception-rooms, whichwere on the second floor. He acknowledged that these people were verystrong in "good things." It was a taste of Osmond's own--not at all ofhers; this she had told him the first time he came to the house, when,after asking himself for a quarter of an hour whether they had evenbetter "French" than he in Paris, he was obliged on the spot to admitthat they had, very much, and vanquished his envy, as a gentlemanshould, to the point of expressing to his hostess his pure admiration ofher treasures. He learned from Mrs. Osmond that her husband had made alarge collection before their marriage and that, though he had annexeda number of fine pieces within the last three years, he had achieved hisgreatest finds at a time when he had not the advantage of her advice.Rosier interpreted this information according to principles of his own.For "advice" read "cash," he said to himself; and the fact that GilbertOsmond had landed his highest prizes during his impecunious seasonconfirmed his most cherished doctrine--the doctrine that a collector mayfreely be poor if he be only patient. In general, when Rosier presentedhimself on a Thursday evening, his first recognition was for the wallsof the saloon there were three or four objects his eyes reallyyearned for. But after his talk with Madame Merle he felt the extremeseriousness of his position and now, when he came in, he looked aboutfor the daughter of the house with such eagerness as might be permitteda gentleman whose smile, as he crossed a threshold, always tookeverything comfortable for granted.