"No; the best part's gone, and gone for nothing."
"Surely not for nothing," said Isabel.
"Why not- what have I got? Neither husband, nor child, nor
fortune, nor position, nor the traces of a beauty that I never had."
"You have many friends, dear lady."
"I'm not so sure!" cried Madame Merle.
"Ah, you're wrong. You have memories, graces, talents-"
But Madame Merle interrupted her. "What have my talents brought
me? Nothing but the need of using them still, to get through the
hours, the years, to cheat myself with some pretence of movement, of
unconsciousness. As for my graces and memories the less said about
them the better. You'll be my friend till you find a better use for
your friendship."
"It will be for you to see that I don't then," said Isabel.
"Yes; I would make an effort to keep you." And her companion
looked at her gravely. "When I say I should like to be your age I mean
with your qualities- frank, generous, sincere like you. In that case I
should have made something better of my life."
"What should you have liked to do that you've not done?"
Madame Merle took a sheet of music- she was seated at the piano
and had abruptly wheeled about on the stool when she first spoke-
and mechanically turned the leaves.
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