tion of this
adventurer--had taken in that Charlotte, of all people, had chosen the
glare of noon for an exploration of the gardens, and that she could be
betaking herself only to some unvisited quarter deep in them, or beyond
them, that she had already marked as a superior refuge. The Princess
kept her for a few minutes in sight, watched her long enough to feel
her, by the mere betrayal of her pace and direction, driven in a kind of
flight, and then understood, for herself, why the act of sitting still
had become impossible to either of them. There came to her, confusedly,
some echo of an ancient fable--some vision of Io goaded by the gadfly or
of Ariadne roaming the lone sea-strand. It brought with it all the sense
of her own intention and desire; she too might have been, for the hour,
some far-off harassed heroine--only with a part to play for which
she knew, exactly, no inspiring precedent. She knew but that, all the
while--all the while of her sitting there among the others without
her--she had wanted to go straight to this detached member of the party
and make somehow, for her support, the last demonstration. A pretext was
all that was needful, and Maggie after another instant had found
one. She had caught a glimpse, before Mrs. Verver disappeared, of her
carrying a book--made out, half lost in the folds of her white dress,
the dark cover of a volume that was to explain her purpose in case of
her being met with surprise, and the mate of which, precisely, now lay
on Maggie's table. The book was an old novel that the Princess had a
couple of days before mentioned having brought down from Portland
Place in the charming original form of its three volumes. Charlotte had
hailed, with a specious glitter of interest, the opportunity to read it,
and our young woman had, thereupon, on the morrow, directed her maid to
carry it to Mrs. Verver's apartments. She was afterwards to observe that
this messenger, unintelligent or inadvertent, had removed but one of
the volumes, which happened not to be the first. Still possessed,
accordingly, of the first while Charlotte, going out, fantastically, at
such an hour, to cultivate romance in an arbour, was helplessly armed
with the second, Maggie prepared on the spot to sally forth with
succour. The right volume, with a parasol, was all she required--in
addition, that is, to the bravery of her general idea. She passed again
through the house, unchallenged, and emerged upon the terrace, wh