daughter is not rich, I suppose, any more than the mother. The furniture is worn and faded, and I was admitted by a solitary servant who carried a twinkling taper before me up the great dark marble staircase.
"I have often heard of you," said the Countess, as I sat down near her; "my mother often spoke of you."
"Often?" I answered. "I am surprised at that."
"Why are you surprised? Were you not good friends?"
"Yes, for a certain time—very good friends. But I was sure she had forgotten me."
"She never forgot," said the Countess, looking at me intently and smiling. "She was not like that."
"She was not like most other women in any way," I declared.
"Ah, she was charming," cried the Countess, rattling open her fan. "I have always been very curious to see you. I have received an impression of you."
"A good one, I hope."
She looked at me, laughing, and not answering this: it was just her mother's trick.
