“She might ...” replied Ellen, “but she’s very ill.... My mother is taking care of her now. You see, my mother lives in the Town. She’s your mother’s cousin ... her real first cousin. That’s how it comes that I’m your cousin.”
“And your mother? What is she like?” asked the boy.
For an instant Ellen observed him thoughtfully. “She’s not a bit like your mother ... and yet she’s like her too in some ways.”
She did not finish the description, for at that moment, through the long vista of the rooms, she saw moving toward her Lily and a man who carried a handbag and across his arm a steamer rug. As they came in, Jean sprang from his chair and ran toward them, clasping his mother about the waist and kissing her as she leaned toward him.
“Maman has come back! Maman has come back!” he cried over and over again, and then, “I have a new cousin! I have a new cousin!”
The man laughed and Lily, smiling, bade the boy be quiet, turning at the same time to Ellen, whom she embraced, to say, “So you’ve come at last! I hope you’re going to stay a long time.”
It was the same Lily, a shade older, a shade less slender, but still warm, lovable, disarming. As they embraced, the faint scent of mimosa drifted toward Ellen and the odor raised a swift, clear picture of the drawing-room at Shane’s Castle with all the family assembled on Christmas day ... the last Christmas day they ever came together there. Old Jacob Barr was dead now. Ellen and Lily were in Paris, Fergus in New York. The drawing room was shut up and abovestairs in her vast bedroom Julia Shane herself, cared for by the capable Hattie, lay dying. In a few more years there would be none of the family left in the Town. They would be scattered over the world. It remained only for grandmère to die.
All this passed through Ellen’s mind as she spoke, “Yes, I shall stay a long time ... if you will have me.” She turned away. “I had to come,” she said. “There was nothing left to do.... But I’m sorry I brought you back from the south.”
“And this,” said Lily, “is Monsieur Carrière ... César. He is the nephew of Madame Gigon and a great friend of Jean and me.”
The stranger bowed and murmured, “Enchanté,” adding in English, “You are the musician.... Madame Shane expects you one day to be great.”