in wonder; but wonder with Pansy had never been a
reason for non-compliance. "I never will again," she said with exquisite
gentleness. At the top of the staircase they had to separate, as it
appeared to be part of the mild but very definite discipline under which
Pansy lived that she should not go down. Isabel descended, and when she
reached the bottom the girl was standing above. "You'll come back?" she
called out in a voice that Isabel remembered afterwards.

"Yes--I'll come back."

Madame Catherine met Mrs. Osmond below and conducted her to the door of
the parlour, outside of which the two stood talking a minute. "I won't
go in," said the good sister. "Madame Merle's waiting for you."

At this announcement Isabel stiffened; she was on the point of asking
if there were no other egress from the convent. But a moment's reflexion
assured her that she would do well not to betray to the worthy nun her
desire to avoid Pansy's other friend. Her companion grasped her arm
very gently and, fixing her a moment with wise, benevolent eyes, said
in French and almost familiarly: "Eh bien, chere Madame, qu'en
pensez-vous?"

"About my step-daughter? Oh, it would take long to tell you."

"We think it's enough," Madame Catherine distinctly observed. 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
possession 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 another 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