by its being pleasant for Robert; but
she felt that she would never know what such a woman as that meant.
She got up; she was afraid Mrs. Acton would tell her again that she
was dying. "Good-by, dear madame," she said. "I must remember that your
strength is precious."

Mrs. Acton took her hand and held it a moment. "Well, you have been
happy here, have n't you? And you like us all, don't you? I wish you
would stay," she added, "in your beautiful little house."

She had told Eugenia that her waiting-woman would be in the hall, to
show her down-stairs; but the large landing outside her door was empty,
and Eugenia stood there looking about. She felt irritated; the dying
lady had not "la main heureuse." She passed slowly down-stairs, still
looking about. The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle
was a high window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with
a row of flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware. The
yellow afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a
little on the white wainscots. Eugenia paused a moment; the house was
perfectly still, save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock. The
lower hall stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over
with a large Oriental rug. Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great
many things. "Comme c'est bien!" she said to herself; such a large,
solid, irreproachable basis of existence the place seemed to her to
indicate. And then she reflected that Mrs. Acton was soon to withdraw
from it. The reflection accompanied her the rest of the way down-stairs,
where she paused again, making more observations. The hall was extremely
broad, and on either side of the front door was a wide, deeply-set
window, which threw the shadows of everything back into the house.
There were high-backed chairs along the wall and big Eastern vases upon
tables, and, on either side, a large cabinet with a glass front and
little curiosities within, dimly gleaming. The doors were open--into the
darkened parlor, the library, the dining-room. All these rooms seemed
empty. Eugenia passed along, and stopped a moment on the threshold of
each. "Comme c'est bien!" she murmured again; she had thought of just
such a house as this when she decided to come to America. She opened
the front door for herself--her light tread had summoned none of the
servants--and on the threshold she gave a last look. Outside, she
was still in the humor for curious contemp