But it was only
because she had the end in view that she was able to proceed. She
had been touched with a point that made her quiver, and she needed all
the alertness of her will to repress her agitation. Her only safety
was in her not betraying herself. She resisted this, but the
startled quality of her voice refused to improve she couldn't help
it while she heard herself say she hardly knew what. The tide of her
confidence ebbed, and she was able only just to glide into port,
faintly grazing the bottom.
Isabel saw it all as distinctly as if it had been reflected in a
large clear glass. It might have been a great moment for her, for it
might have been a moment of triumph. That Madame Merle had lost her
pluck and saw before her the phantom of exposure-this in itself was
a revenge, this in itself was almost the promise of a brighter day.
And for a moment during which she stood apparently looking out of
the window, with her back half-turned, Isabel enjoyed that
knowledge. On the other side of the window lay the garden of the
convent; but this is not what she saw; she saw nothing of the
budding plants and the glowing afternoon. She saw, in the crude
light of that revelation which had already become a part of experience
and to which the very frailty of the vessel in which it had been
offered her only gave an intrinsic price, the dry staring fact that
she had been an applied handled hung-up tool, as senseless and
convenient as mere shaped wood and iron.
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