Page:The Novels and Tales of Henry James, Volume 2 (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907).djvu/421

THE AMERICAN Fleurières? What day is this? What day was yesterday? Ah then, I shan't see her," Valentin moaned. "Fleurières is too far!" And he became dark and dumb again, only breathing a little harder. Newman sat silent, invoking duplicity, but was relieved at being able soon to believe him really too weak to be curious. He did, however, at last break out again. "And my mother—and my brother—will they come? Are they at Fleurières?"

"They were in Paris, but I did n't see them either," Newman answered. "If they received your telegram in time they 'll have started this morning. Otherwise they 'll be obliged to wait for the night express and change, and will arrive at the same hour I did."

"They won't thank me—they won't thank me," Valentin murmured. "They 'll pass an atrocious night, and Urbain does n't like the early morning air. I don't remember ever in my life to have seen him before noon—before breakfast. No one ever saw him. We don't know how he is then. Perhaps he's different. Who knows? Posterity perhaps will know. That's the time he works in his cabinet, at the history of the Princesses. But I had to send for them—had n't I? And then I want to see my mother sit there where you sit and say good-bye to her—hear her above all say hers to me. Perhaps, after all, I don't know her—she may have some surprise for me. Don't think you know her yet, yourself; perhaps she may surprise you. But if I can't see Claire I don't care—what do you call it?—a red cent. Have you then green sous or blue ones or any other colour? Ah vous, mon cher, vous en avez, vous, de toutes les 391