The Ambassadors by Henry James (read people like a book .TXT) 📕

had been to cling with intensity to the brink, not to dip so much as a toe into the flood. But the flicker of his fear on this occasion was not, as may be added, to repeat itself; it sprang up, for its moment, only to die down and then go out forever. To meet his fellow visitor’s invocation and, with Sarah’s brilliant eyes on him, answer, was quite sufficiently to step into her boat. During the rest of the time her visit lasted he felt himself proceed to each of the proper offices, successively, for helping to keep the adventurous skiff afloat. It rocked beneath him, but he settled himself in his place. He took up an oar and, since he was to have the credit of pulling, pulled.

“That will make it all the pleasanter if it so happens that we do meet,” Madame de Vionnet had further observed in reference to Mrs. Pocock’s mention of her initiated state; and she had immediately added that, after all, her hostess couldn’t be in need with the good offices of Mr. Strether so close at hand. “It’s he, I gather, who has learnt to know his Paris, and to love it, better than anyone ever before in so short a time; so that between him and your brother, when it comes to the point, how can you possibly want for good guidance? The great thing, Mr. Strether will show you,” she smiled, “is just to let one’s self go.”

“Oh I’ve not let myself go very far,” Strether answered, feeling quite as if he had been called upon to hint to Mrs. Pocock how Parisians could talk. “I’m only afraid of showing I haven’t let myself go far enough. I’ve taken a good deal of time, but I must quite have had the air of not budging from one spot.” He looked at Sarah in a manner that he thought she might take as engaging, and he made, under Madame de Vionnet’s protection, as it were, his first personal point. “What has really happened has been that, all the while, I’ve done what I came out for.”

Yet it only at first gave Madame de Vionnet a chance immediately to take him up. “You’ve renewed acquaintance with your friend⁠—you’ve learnt to know him again.” She spoke with such cheerful helpfulness that they might, in a common cause, have been calling together and pledged to mutual aid.

Waymarsh, at this, as if he had been in question, straightway turned from the window. “Oh yes, Countess⁠—he has renewed acquaintance with me, and he has, I guess, learnt something about me, though I don’t know how much he has liked it. It’s for Strether himself to say whether he has felt it justifies his course.”

“Oh but you,” said the Countess gaily, “are not in the least what he came out for⁠—is he really, Strether? and I hadn’t you at all in my mind. I was thinking of Mr. Newsome, of whom we think so much and with whom, precisely, Mrs. Pocock has given herself the opportunity to take up threads. What a pleasure for you both!” Madame de Vionnet, with her eyes on Sarah, bravely continued.

Mrs. Pocock met her handsomely, but Strether quickly saw she meant to accept no version of her movements or plans from any other lips. She required no patronage and no support, which were but other names for a false position; she would show in her own way what she chose to show, and this she expressed with a dry glitter that recalled to him a fine Woollett winter morning. “I’ve never wanted for opportunities to see my brother. We’ve many things to think of at home, and great responsibilities and occupations, and our home’s not an impossible place. We’ve plenty of reasons,” Sarah continued a little piercingly, “for everything we do”⁠—and in short she wouldn’t give herself the least little scrap away. But she added as one who was always bland and who could afford a concession: “I’ve come because⁠—well, because we do come.”

“Ah then fortunately!”⁠—Madame de Vionnet breathed it to the air. Five minutes later they were on their feet for her to take leave, standing together in an affability that had succeeded in surviving a further exchange of remarks; only with the emphasised appearance on Waymarsh’s part of a tendency to revert, in a ruminating manner and as with an instinctive or a precautionary lightening of his tread, to an open window and his point of vantage. The glazed and gilded room, all red damask, ormolu, mirrors, clocks, looked south, and the shutters were bowed upon the summer morning; but the Tuileries garden and what was beyond it, over which the whole place hung, were things visible through gaps; so that the far-spreading presence of Paris came up in coolness, dimness and invitation, in the twinkle of gilt-tipped palings, the crunch of gravel, the click of hoofs, the crack of whips, things that suggested some parade of the circus. “I think it probable,” said Mrs. Pocock, “that I shall have the opportunity of going to my brother’s. I’ve no doubt it’s very pleasant indeed.” She spoke as to Strether, but her face was turned with an intensity of brightness to Madame de Vionnet, and there was a moment during which, while she thus fronted her, our friend expected to hear her add: “I’m much obliged to you, I’m sure, for inviting me there.” He guessed that for five seconds these words were on the point of coming; he heard them as clearly as if they had been spoken; but he presently knew they had just failed⁠—knew it by a glance, quick and fine, from Madame de Vionnet, which told him that she too had felt them in the air, but that the point had luckily not been made in any manner requiring notice. This left her free to reply only to what had been said.

“That the Boulevard Malesherbes may be common ground for us offers me the best prospect I see for the pleasure of meeting