The Argosy — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

244 | THE ARGOSY. who were her guests had driven her tothe street? Wouldthe same destiny lead me to her house again? Was the instinct, which kept dinning it into my ears that this woman had become my friend, a true premonition or the mere fancy of the dreamer? ‘These thoughts and questions were my com- panions day and night. The tidings which old Benjamin carried neither added to the number of them nor gave me answer. I was like a child which had looked upon some stage picture for an instant and then had been hurried from the theater. The mystery pursued me relentlessly—even to my bed. There is not a great deal of that which the French papers call ‘‘ le high- life’’ to be seen from the upper windows of a house in the Marylebone Road —unless the “‘ highlife’’ in question be a matter of altitude. For a little while, I stood watching the endless procession of railway vans and lumbering wagons. ‘Then, weary of the prospect, and remembering that for Benjamin’s sake I must sooner or later go out and pretend to dine, I put on my hat and descended the well worn stairs. But I had not taken twenty steps westward before I saw the woman her- self, the lady of the house of mysteries, driving slowly toward me; and I knew, as though she herself had said it, that her business was with me. CHAPTER III.—ISABELLA DE GAVARNIE. THE carriage was a victoria, superbly horsed ; my lady herself was dressed as only a Parisian at Longchamps or a Viennese in the Prater knows how to dress. JI thanked God in that moment for the good frock coat and the fresh silk hat hich Portugal Street had left to me. The garret which I had just quitted was remembered for an instant as the shabbiest in all London. It was all the. work of a moment, my own surprise and unconcealed pleasure, her cry of recognition, the swift reining in of the horses, the swerve of the carriage against the curbstone. ‘Ten seconds did not pass, I believe, before I was holding her hand and telling myself how different she was from the woman who had crouched and shuddered in the house of myster- ies. For the sunshine of the lingering day fell upon a face of surpassing sweetness ; and the eyes, in which I had seen tears, were now aglow with the radiance of a woman’s laughter. ‘Captain Falconer,’’ she said, speaking in quaint and pretty English, with the faintest possible accent to give it charm, ‘‘ how lucky I am! I was coming to see you.’’ I thought of my garret, and flushed as a schoolgirl at her first com- pliment. : ‘* Madam ’» T exclaimed, and then stuck for the word. ‘‘ Gavarnie,’’ she said, as though answering a question I had not spoken. ‘* Will you let me come into your house and speak to you for a little while ?’’ Her hand had rested in mine while she put the question, but now she drew it back and began to unwrap the white rug from her knees. I don’t know what I said to her, but in my heart I cursed the Marylebone Road and its people—but more particularly the two pair back to which destiny had con- demned me. When next I had command of my tongue, she was sitting in Eomicbooks (E(0)