THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. 351 XL. ISABEL had not seen much of Madame Merle since her mar- riage, this Jady having indulged in frequent absences from Rome. At one time she had spent six months in England ; at another she had passed a portion of a winter in Paris. She had made numerous visits to distant friends, and gave countenance to the idea that for the future she should be a less inveterate Roman than in the past. As she had been inveterate in the past only in the sense of constantly having an apartment in one of the sunniest niches of the Pincian an apartment which often stood empty this suggested a prospect of almost constant absence ; a danger which Isabel at one period had been much inclined to deplore. Familiarity had modified in some degree her first impression of Madame Merle, but it had not essentially altered it ; there was still a kind of wonder of admiration in it. Madame Merle was armed at all points ; it was a pleasure to see a person so completely equipped for the social battle. She carried her flag discreetly, but her weapons were polished steel, and she used them with a skill which struck Isabel as more and more that of a veteran. She was never weary, never overcome with disgust ; she never appeared to need rest or consolation. She had her own ideas ; she had of old exposed a great many of them to Isabel, who knew also that under an appearance of extreme self-control her highly-cultivated friend concealed a rich sensibility. But her will was mistress of her life ; there was something brilliant in the way she kept going. It was as if she had learned the secret of it as if the art of life were some clever trick that she had guessed. Isabel, as she herself grew older, became acquainted with revulsions, with disgust; there were days when the world looked black, and she asked herself iith some peremptoriness what it was that she was pretending to live for. Her old habit had been to live by enthusiasm, to fall in love with suddenly-perceived possibilities, with the idea of a new attempt. x As a young girl, she used to ^proceed from one little exaltation to the other ; there were scarcely any dull places between. But Madame Merle had suppressed enthusi- asm ; she fell in love now-a-days with nothing ; she lived entirely by reason, by wisdom. There were hours when Isabel would have given anything for lessons in this art ; if Madame Merle had been near, she would have made an appeal to her. She had become aware more than before of the advantage of
