"The curé's description. There was no mistaking it. He said at a little distance her eyes looked white, like a statue's."
"Ah—that was good! They are like that. Curious eyes. Curious woman. Why didn't you tell me before about her visit to the curé?"
"I meant to. But you put off coming so long. And I—well, I confess I forgot."
"You're excusable in the circumstances, my dear boy. After all, it's of no importance."
"No. And then, as I never saw her anywhere about, there was reason to suppose she'd left. If I thought of her at all, I thought she'd gone."
"It seems she's been staying for weeks at the Annonciata—I fancy she called it—a hotel on a little mountain close to Mentone. She says the air's very fine—and she's been ordered south by an American doctor. Had pneumonia in the autumn."
"What about the distant cousin over there who was going to leave her money?"
"He's dead, and she's got the money. She is wearing a kind of second mourning—gray and black. It made her look rather hard, I thought."
"She always did look hard, except——"
"Except? What's the rest, Vanno?"