Madame De Mauves
James, Henry, 1843-1916
English
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Below is a summary of Madame De Mauves
MADAME DE MAUVES
HENRY JAMES
I
The view from the terrace at Saint-Germain-en-Laye is immense and
famous. Paris lies spread before you in dusky vastness, domed and
fortified, glittering here and there through her light vapours and
girdled with her silver Seine. Behind you is a park of stately symmetry,
and behind that a forest where you may lounge through turfy avenues and
light-chequered glades and quite forget that you are within half an hour
of the boulevards. One afternoon, however, in mid-spring, some five
years ago, a young man seated on the terrace had preferred to keep this
in mind. His eyes were fixed in idle wistfulness on the mighty human
hive before him. He was fond of rural things, and he had come to Saint-
Germain a week before to meet the spring halfway; but though he could
boast of a six months' acquaintance with the great city he never looked
at it from his present vantage without a sense of curiosity still
unappeased. There were moments when it seemed to him that not to be
there just then was to miss some thrilling chapter of experience. And
yet his winter's experience had been rather fruitless and he had closed
the book almost with a yawn. Though not in the least a cynic he was what
one may call a disappointed observer, and he never chose the right-hand
road without beginning to suspect after an hour's wayfaring that the
left would have been the better. He now had a dozen minds to go to Paris
for the evening, to dine at the Cafe Brebant and repair afterwards to
the Gymnase and listen to the latest exposition of the duties of the
injured husband. He would probably have risen to execute this project if
he had not noticed a little girl who, wandering along the terrace, had
suddenly stopped short and begun to gaze at him with round-eyed
frankness. For a moment he was simply amused, the child's face denoting
such helpless wonderment; the next he was agreeably surprised. "Why this
is my friend Maggie," he said; "I see you've not forgotten me."
Maggie, after a short parley, was induced to seal her remembrance with a
kiss. Invited then to explain her appearance at Saint-Germain, she
embarked on a recital in which the general, according to the infantine
method, was so fatally sacrificed to the particular that Longmore looked
about him for a superior source of information. He found it in Maggie's
mamma, who was seated with another lady at the opposite end of the
terrace; so, taking the child by the hand, he led her back to her
companions.
Maggie's mamma was a young American lady, as you would immediately have
perceived, with a pretty and friendly face and a great elegance of fresh
finery. She greeted Longmore with amazement and joy, mentioning his name
to her friend and bidding him bring a chair and sit with them. The other
lady, in whom, though she was equally young and perhaps even prettier,
muslins and laces and feathers were less of a feature, remained silent,
stroking the hair of the little girl, whom she had drawn against her
knee. She had never heard of Longmore, but she now took in that her
companion had crossed the ocean with him, had met him afterwards in
travelling and--having left her husband in Wall Street--was indebted to
him for sundry services. Maggie's mamma turned from time to time and
smiled at this lady with an air of invitation; the latter smiled back
and continued gracefully to say nothing. For ten minutes, meanwhile,
Longmore felt a revival of interest in his old acquaintance; then (as
mild riddles are more amusing than mere commonplaces) it gave way to
curiosity about her friend. His eyes wandered; her volubility shook a
sort of sweetness out of the friend's silence.
The stranger was perhaps not obviously a beauty nor obviously an
American, but essentially both for the really seeing eye. She was slight
and fair and, though naturally pale, was delicately flushed just now, as
by the effect of late agitation. What chiefly struck Longmore in her
face was the union of a pair of beautifully gentle, almost languid grey
eyes with a mouth that was all expression and intention. Her forehead
was a trifle more expansive than belongs to classic types, and her thick
brown hair dressed out of the fashion, just then even more ugly than
usual. Her throat and bust were slender, but all the more in harmony
with certain rapid charming movements of the head, which she had a way
of throwing back every now and then with an air of attention and a
sidelong glance from her dove-like eyes. She seemed at once alert and
indifferent, contemplative and restless, and Longmore very soon
discovered that if she was not a brilliant beauty she was at least a
most attaching one. This very impression made him magnanimous. He was
certain he had interrupted a confidential conversation, and judged it
discreet to withdraw, having first learned from Maggie's mamma--Mrs.
Draper--that she was to take the six o'clock train back to Paris. He
promised to meet her at the station.
He kept his appointment, and Mrs. Draper arrived betimes, accompanied by
her friend. The latter, however, made her farewells at the door and
drove away again, giving Longmore time only to raise his hat. "Who is
she?" he asked with visible ardour as he brought the traveller her
tickets.
"Come and see me to-morrow at the Hotel de l'Empire," she answered, "and
I'll tell you all about her." The force of this offer in making him
punctual at the Hotel de l'Empire Longmore doubtless never exactly
measured; and it was perhaps well he was vague, for he found his friend,
who was on the point of leaving Paris, so distracted by procrastinating
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