n it. She might easily have
told me that my sympathy was impertinent, but this by good fortune
did not occur to her. I left her with the understanding that she would
consider the matter with her aunt and that I might come back the next
day for their decision.

"The aunt will refuse; she will think the whole proceeding very louche!"
Mrs. Prest declared shortly after this, when I had resumed my place in
her gondola. She had put the idea into my head and now (so little are
women to be counted on) she appeared to take a despondent view of it.
Her pessimism provoked me and I pretended to have the best hopes; I
went so far as to say that I had a distinct presentiment that I should
succeed. Upon this Mrs. Prest broke out, "Oh, I see what's in your head!
You fancy you have made such an impression in a quarter of an hour that
she is dying for you to come and can be depended upon to bring the old
one round. If you do get in you'll count it as a triumph."

I did count it as a triumph, but only for the editor (in the last
analysis), not for the man, who had not the tradition of personal
conquest. When I went back on the morrow the little maidservant
conducted me straight through the long sala (it opened there as before
in perfect perspective and was lighter now, which I thought a good
omen) into the apartment from which the recipient of my former visit had
emerged on that occasion. It was a large shabby parlor, with a fine
old painted ceiling and a strange figure sitting alone at one of the
windows. They come back to me now almost with the palpitation they
caused, the successive feelings that accompanied my consciousness that
as the door of the room closed behind me I was really face to face with
the Juliana of some of Aspern's most exquisite and most renowned lyrics.
I grew used to her afterward, though never completely; but as she sat
there before me my heart beat as fast as if the miracle of resurrection
had taken place for my benefit. Her presence seemed somehow to contain
his, and I felt nearer to him at that first moment of seeing her than
I ever had been before or ever have been since. Yes, I remember my
emotions in their order, even including a curious little tremor that
took me when I saw that the niece was not there. With her, the day
before, I had become sufficiently familiar, but it almost exceeded my
courage (much as I had longed for the event) to be left alone with
such a terrible relic as the aunt. She was too stran