VOLUME II
51. CHAPTER LI
(continued)
Isabel sat staring at her companion's story as at a bale of
fantastic wares some strolling gypsy might have unpacked on the
carpet at her feet. "Why did Osmond never marry her?" she finally
asked.
"Because she had no money." The Countess had an answer for
everything, and if she lied she lied well. "No one knows, no one
has ever known, what she lives on, or how she has got all those
beautiful things. I don't believe Osmond himself knows. Besides,
she wouldn't have married him."
"How can she have loved him then?"
"She doesn't love him in that way. She did at first, and then, I
suppose, she would have married him; but at that time her husband
was living. By the time M. Merle had rejoined--I won't say his
ancestors, because he never had any--her relations with Osmond
had changed, and she had grown more ambitious. Besides, she has
never had, about him," the Countess went on, leaving Isabel to
wince for it so tragically afterwards--"she HAD never had, what
you might call any illusions of INTELLIGENCE. She hoped she might
marry a great man; that has always been her idea. She has waited
and watched and plotted and prayed; but she has never succeeded.
I don't call Madame Merle a success, you know. I don't know what
she may accomplish yet, but at present she has very little to
show. The only tangible result she has ever achieved--except, of
course, getting to know every one and staying with them free of
expense--has been her bringing you and Osmond together. Oh, she
did that, my dear; you needn't look as if you doubted it. I've
watched them for years; I know everything--everything. I'm
thought a great scatterbrain, but I've had enough application of
mind to follow up those two. She hates me, and her way of showing
it is to pretend to be for ever defending me. When people say
I've had fifteen lovers she looks horrified and declares that
quite half of them were never proved. She has been afraid of me
for years, and she has taken great comfort in the vile, false
things people have said about me. She has been afraid I'd expose
her, and she threatened me one day when Osmond began to pay his
court to you. It was at his house in Florence; do you remember
that afternoon when she brought you there and we had tea in the
garden? She let me know then that if I should tell tales two
could play at that game. She pretends there's a good deal more to
tell about me than about her. It would be an interesting
comparison! I don't care a fig what she may say, simply because I
know YOU don't care a fig. You can't trouble your head about me
less than you do already. So she may take her revenge as she
chooses; I don't think she'll frighten you very much. Her great
idea has been to be tremendously irreproachable--a kind of
full-blown lily--the incarnation of propriety. She has always
worshipped that god. There should be no scandal about Caesar's
wife, you know; and, as I say, she has always hoped to marry
Caesar. That was one reason she wouldn't marry Osmond; the fear
that on seeing her with Pansy people would put things together--
would even see a resemblance. She has had a terror lest the
mother should betray herself. She has been awfully careful; the
mother has never done so."
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