, she let fall his hand, and placed both
hers on his shoulders, while her face gave out a flash of admiration in
which every worn line disappeared and seemed to leave a restored youth.

"You are a beautiful creature!" she said, in a low melodious voice,
with syllables which had what might be called a foreign but agreeable
outline. "I knew you would be." Then she kissed him on each cheek, and
he returned the kisses. But it was something like a greeting between
royalties.

She paused a moment while the lines were coming back into her face, and
then said in a colder tone, "I am your mother. But you can have no love
for me."

"I have thought of you more than of any other being in the world," said
Deronda, his voice trembling nervously.

"I am not like what you thought I was," said the mother decisively,
withdrawing her hands from his shoulders, and folding her arms as
before, looking at him as if she invited him to observe her. He had
often pictured her face in his imagination as one which had a likeness
to his own: he saw some of the likeness now, but amidst more striking
differences. She was a remarkable looking being. What was it that gave
her son a painful sense of aloofness?--Her worn beauty had a
strangeness in it as if she were not quite a human mother, but a
Melusina, who had ties with some world which is independent of ours.

"I used to think that you might be suffering," said Deronda, anxious
above all not to wound her. "I used to wish that I could be a comfort
to you."

"I _am_ suffering. But with a suffering that you can't comfort," said
the Princess, in a harder voice than before, moving to a sofa where
cushions had been carefully arranged for her. "Sit down." She pointed
to a seat near her; and then discerning some distress in Deronda's
face, she added, more gently, "I am not suffering at this moment. I am
at ease now. I am able to talk."

Deronda seated himself and waited for her to speak again. It seemed as
if he were in the presence of a mysterious Fate rather than of the
longed-for mother. He was beginning to watch her with wonder, from the
spiritual distance to which she had thrown him.

"No," she began: "I did not send for you to comfort me. I could not
know beforehand--I don't know now--what you will feel toward me. I have
not the foolish notion that you can love me merely because I am your
mother, when you have never seen or heard of me in all your life. But I
thought I chose something better