earlier in the day. Twice he tried in vain to climb as far as the
loophole, but the third time, with trousers ruined and one hand
bleeding, he succeeded in crawling on to the ledge below the opening so
that he could look inside. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of
his own pleasure in doing so. Some rich, heavy scent met him as he
looked down, but, fresh from the gardens of Como, this garden looked to
him both heavy and desolate--heavy in its great hedges broken by
statuary in alcoves cut in the green, and desolate in its burnt turf and
its trailing rose trees loaded with dead roses. His first glance had
been downwards, then his look went further afield, and he knew why
Madame Danterre had chosen the villa, for the view of Florence was
superb. He had not enjoyed it for half a moment when he heard a slight
noise in the garden. Yes, down the alley opposite to him there were
approaching a lady and two men servants. He held his breath with
surprise. Was this Madame Danterre? the rival of Rose, the real love of
David Bright? What he saw was an incredibly wizened old woman who yet
held herself with considerable grace and walked with quick, long steps
on the burnt grass a little ahead of the attendants, one of whom carried
a deck chair, while the other was laden with cushions and books. It was
evident to the onlooker at the installation of Madame Danterre in the
shady, open space where three alleys met, that everything to do with her
person was carried out with the care and reverence befitting a religious
ceremony; and there was almost a ludicrous degree of pride in her
bearing and gestures. Edmund felt how amazingly some women have the
power of making others accept them as a higher product of creation,
until their most minute bodily wants seem to themselves and those about
them to have a sacred importance. At last, when chair and mat and
cushions and books had been carefully adjusted after much consideration,
she was left alone.