I liked; she seemed to wish to
notify me that the Misses Bordereau would take no overt interest in my
proceedings. I guessed that her aunt had instructed her to adopt this
tone, and I may as well say now that I came afterward to distinguish
perfectly (as I believed) between the speeches she made on her own
responsibility and those the old lady imposed upon her. She took
no notice of the unswept condition of the rooms and indulged in no
explanations nor apologies. I said to myself that this was a sign that
Juliana and her niece (disenchanting idea!) were untidy persons, with a
low Italian standard; but I afterward recognized that a lodger who had
forced an entrance had no locus standi as a critic. We looked out of a
good many windows, for there was nothing within the rooms to look at,
and still I wanted to linger. I asked her what several different objects
in the prospect might be, but in no case did she appear to know. She was
evidently not familiar with the view--it was as if she had not looked
at it for years--and I presently saw that she was too preoccupied with
something else to pretend to care for it. Suddenly she said--the remark
was not suggested:

"I don't know whether it will make any difference to you, but the money
is for me."

"The money?"

"The money you are going to bring."

"Why, you'll make me wish to stay here two or three years." I spoke as
benevolently as possible, though it had begun to act on my nerves that
with these women so associated with Aspern the pecuniary question should
constantly come back.

"That would be very good for me," she replied, smiling.

"You put me on my honor!"

She looked as if she failed to understand this, but went on: "She wants
me to have more. She thinks she is going to die."

"Ah, not soon, I hope!" I exclaimed with genuine feeling. I had
perfectly considered the possibility that she would destroy her papers
on the day she should feel her end really approach. I believed that she
would cling to them till then, and I think I had an idea that she
read Aspern's letters over every night or at least pressed them to her
withered lips. I would have given a good deal to have a glimpse of the
latter spectacle. I asked Miss Tita if the old lady were seriously ill,
and she replied that she was only very tired--she had lived so very,
very long. That was what she said herself--she wanted to die for a
change. Besides, all her friends were dead long ago; either they ought
to