The old man opened the North American again, and read a few lines. “If we have ever had any virtue among us, we had better keep hold of it now,” he said. He was not quoting.
“We have a Baroness among us,” said Acton. “That’s what we must keep hold of!” He was too impatient to see Madame Münster again to wonder what Mr. Wentworth was talking about. Nevertheless, after he had passed out of the house and traversed the garden and the little piece of road that separated him from Eugenia’s provisional residence, he stopped a moment outside. He stood in her little garden; the long window of her parlor was open, and he could see the white curtains, with the lamp-light shining through them, swaying softly to and fro in the warm night wind. There was a sort of excitement in the idea of seeing Madame Münster again; he became aware that his heart was beating rather faster than usual. It was this that made him stop, with a half-amused surprise. But in a moment he went along the piazza, and, approaching the open window, tapped upon its lintel with his stick. He could see the Baroness within; she was standing in the middle of the room. She came to the window and pulled aside the curtain; then she stood looking at him a moment. She was not smiling; she seemed serious.
“Mais entrez donc!” she said at last. Acton passed in across the window-sill; he wondered, for an instant, what was the matter with her. But the next moment she had begun to smile and had put out her hand. “Better late than never,” she said. “It is very kind of you to come at this hour.”
“I have just returned from my journey,” said Acton.
“Ah, very kind, very kind,” she repeated, looking about her where to sit.
“I went first to the other house,” Acton continued. “I expected to find you there.”
She had sunk into her usual chair; but she got up again, and began to move about the room. Acton had laid down his hat and stick; he was looking at her, conscious that there was in fact a great charm in seeing her again. “I don’t know whether I ought to tell you to sit down,” she said. “It is too late to begin a visit.”
“It’s too early to end one,” Acton declared; “and we needn’t mind the beginning.”
She looked at him again, and, after a moment, dropped once more into her low chair, while he took a place near her. “We are in the middle, then?” she asked. “Was that where we were when you went away? No, I haven’t been to the other house.”
“Not yesterday, nor the day before, eh?”