Large, fair, smiling, serene,
there was something in her very tranquillity that diffused itself, and
when people looked around it was because of a sudden quiet. On this
occasion she had done the quietest thing she could do; after embracing
Mrs. Osmond, which was more striking, she had sat down on a small sofa
to commune with the master of the house. There was a brief exchange of
commonplaces between these two-they always paid, in public, a
certain formal tribute to the commonplace-and then Madame Merle, whose
eyes had been wandering, asked if little Mr. Rosier had come this
evening.
"He came nearly an hour ago-but he has disappeared," Osmond said.
"And where's Pansy?"
"In the other room. There are several people there."
"He's probably among them," said Madame Merle.
"Do you wish to see him?" Osmond asked in a provokingly pointless
tone.
Madame Merle looked at him a moment; she knew each of his tones to
the eighth of a note. "Yes, I should like to say to him that I've told
you what he wants, and that it interests you but feebly."
"Don't tell him that. He'll try to interest me more-which is exactly
what I don't want.
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