They presently addressed his companion, the brilliant strangers;she rose to speak to them, and Strether noted how the escorted lady, though mature and by no means beautiful, had more of the bold high look, the range of expensive reference, that he had, as might have been said, made his plans for.Madame de Vionnet greeted her as "Duchesse" and was greeted in turn, while talk started in French, as "Ma toute-belle"; little facts that had their due, their vivid interest for Strether.Madame de Vionnet didn't, none the less, introduce him--a note he was conscious of as false to the Woollett scale and the Woollett humanity; though it didn't prevent the Duchess, who struck him as confident and free, very much what he had obscurely supposed duchesses, from looking at him as straight and as hard--for it WAS hard--as if she would have liked, all the same, to know him."Oh yes, my dear, it's all right, it's ME; and who are YOU, with your interesting wrinkles and your most effective (is it the handsomest, is it the ugliest?) of noses?"--some such loose handful of bright flowers she seemed, fragrantly enough, to fling at him.Strether almost wondered--at such a pace was he going--if some divination of the influence of either party were what determined Madame de Vionnet's abstention.One of the gentlemen, in any case, succeeded in placing himself in close relation with our friend's companion; a gentleman rather stout and importantly short, in a hat with a wonderful wide curl to its brim and a frock coat buttoned with an effect of superlative decision.His French had quickly turned to equal English, and it occurred to Strether that he might well be one of the ambassadors.His design was evidently to assert a claim to Madame de Vionnet's undivided countenance, and he made it good in the course of a minute--led her away with a trick of three words; a trick played with a social art of which Strether, looking after them as the four, whose backs were now all turned, moved off, felt himself no master.
He sank again upon his bench and, while his eyes followed the party, reflected, as he had done before, on Chad's strange communities.He sat there alone for five minutes, with plenty to think of; above all with his sense of having suddenly been dropped by a charming woman overlaid now by other impressions and in fact quite cleared and indifferent.He hadn't yet had so quiet a surrender; he didn't in the least care if nobody spoke to him more.He might have been, by his attitude, in for something of a march so broad that the want of ceremony with which he had just been used could fall into its place as but a minor incident of the procession.Besides, there would be incidents enough, as he felt when this term of contemplation was closed by the reappearance of little Bilham, who stood before him a moment with a suggestive "Well?" in which he saw himself reflected as disorganised, as possibly floored.He replied with a "Well!" intended to show that he wasn't floored in the least.No indeed; he gave it out, as the young man sat down beside him, that if, at the worst, he had been overturned at all, he had been overturned into the upper air, the sublimer element with which he had an affinity and in which he might be trusted a while to float.It wasn't a descent to earth to say after an instant and in sustained response to the reference:
"You're quite sure her husband's living?""Oh dear, yes."
"Ah then--!"
"Ah then what?"
Strether had after all to think."Well, I'm sorry for them." But it didn't for the moment matter more than that.He assured his young friend he was quite content.They wouldn't stir; were all right as they were.He didn't want to be introduced; had been introduced already about as far as he could go.He had seen moreover an immensity; liked Gloriani, who, as Miss Barrace kept saying, was wonderful; had made out, he was sure, the half-dozen other 'men who were distinguished, the artists, the critics and oh the great dramatist--HIM it was easy to spot; but wanted--no, thanks, really--to talk with none of them; having nothing at all to say and finding it would do beautifully as it was; do beautifully because what it was--well, was just simply too late.
And when after this little Bilham, submissive and responsive, but with an eye to the consolation nearest, easily threw off some "Better late than never!" all he got in return for it was a sharp "Better early than late!" This note indeed the next thing overflowed for Strether into a quiet stream of demonstration that as soon as he had let himself go he felt as the real relief.It had consciously gathered to a head, but the reservoir had filled sooner than he knew, and his companion's touch was to make the waters spread.There were some things that had to come in time if they were to come at all.If they didn't come in time they were lost for ever.It was the general sense of them that had overwhelmed him with its long slow rush.
"It's not too late for YOU, on any side, and you don't strike me as in danger of missing the train; besides which people can be in general pretty well trusted, of course--with the clock of their freedom ticking as loud as it seems to do here--to keep an eye on the fleeting hour.All the same don't forget that you're young--blessedly young; be glad of it on the contrary and live up to it.
Live all you can; it's a mistake not to.It doesn't so much matter what you do in particular, so long as you have your life.If you haven't had that what HAVE you had? This place and these impressions--mild as you may find them to wind a man up so; all my impressions of Chad and of people I've seen at HIS place--well, have had their abundant message for me, have just dropped THATinto my mind.I see it now.I haven't done so enough before--and now I'm old; too old at any rate for what I see.Oh I DO see, at least; and more than you'd believe or I can express.It's too late.
And it's as if the train had fairly waited at the station for me without my having had the gumption to know it was there.
