A domestic, at the first summons, ushered the visitor into an apartment,
where he expected to be joined by Miss Gray. The room opened on one side
into a small garden or parterre, filled with the brilliant-coloured
flowers of Eastern climates; in the midst of which the waters of a
fountain rose upwards in a sparkling jet, and fell back again into a
white marble cistern.
A thousand dizzy recollections thronged on the mind of Hartley, whose
early feelings towards the companion of his youth, if they had slumbered
during distance and the various casualties of a busy life, were revived
when he found himself placed so near her, and in circumstances which
interested from their unexpected occurrence and mysterious character. A
step was heard--the door opened--a female appeared--but it was the
portly form of Madame de Montreville.
"What do you please to want, sir?" said the lady; "that is, if you have
found your tongue this morning, which you had lost yesterday."
"I proposed myself the honour of waiting upon the young person, whom I
saw in your excellency's company yesterday morning," answered Hartley,
with assumed respect. "I have had long the honour of being known to her
in Europe, and I desire to offer my services to her in India."
"Much obliged--much obliged; but Miss Gray is gone out, and does not
return for one or two days. You may leave your commands with me."
"Pardon me, madam," replied Hartley; "but I have some reason to hope you
may be mistaken in this matter--And here comes the lady herself.
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