Four Meetings | Page 4

sunny
side of the street and made a picture. We looked at it as we passed
along; then, suddenly, my brother-in-law stopped, pressing my arm and
staring. I followed his gaze and saw that we had paused just before
coming to a café, where, under an awning, several tables and chairs
were disposed upon the pavement The windows were open behind; half
a dozen plants in tubs were ranged beside the door; the pavement was
besprinkled with clean bran. It was a nice little, quiet, old-fashioned
café; inside, in the comparative dusk, I saw a stout, handsome woman,
with pink ribbons in her cap, perched up with a mirror behind her back,
smiling at some one who was out of sight. All this, however, I
perceived afterwards; what I first observed was a lady sitting alone,
outside, at one of the little marble-topped tables. My brother-in-law had
stopped to look at her. There was something on the little table, but she
was leaning back quietly, with her hands folded, looking down the
street, away from us. I saw her only in something less than profile;
nevertheless, I instantly felt that I had seen her before.
"The little lady of the steamer!" exclaimed my brother-in-law.
"Was she on your steamer?" I asked.
"From morning till night She was never sick. She used to sit
perpetually at the side of the vessel with her hands crossed that way,
looking at the eastward horizon."
"Are you going to speak to her?"
"I don't know her. I never made acquaintance with her. I was too seedy.
But I used to watch her and--I don't know why--to be interested in her.
She's a dear little Yankee woman. I have an idea she is a schoolmistress
taking a holiday, for which her scholars have made up a purse."

She turned her face a little more into profile, looking at the steep gray
house-fronts opposite to her. Then I said, "I shall speak to her myself."
"I would n't; she is very shy," said my brother-in-law.
"My dear fellow, I know her. I once showed her photographs at a
tea-party."
And I went up to her. She turned and looked at me, and I saw she was
in fact Miss Caroline Spencer. But she was not so quick to recognize
me; she looked startled. I pushed a chair to the table and sat down.
"Well," I said, "I hope you are not disappointed!"
She stared, blushing a little; then she gave a small jump which betrayed
recognition.
"It was you who showed me the photographs, at Grimwinter!"
"Yes, it was I. This happens very charmingly, for I feel as if it were for
me to give you a formal reception here, an official welcome. I talked to
you so much about Europe."
"You did n't say too much. I am so happy!" she softly exclaimed.
Very happy she looked. There was no sign of her being older; she was
as gravely, decently, demurely pretty as before. If she had seemed
before a thin-stemmed, mild-hued flower of Puritanism, it may be
imagined whether in her present situation this delicate bloom was less
apparent. Beside her an old gentleman was drinking absinthe; behind
her the dame de comptoir in the pink ribbons was calling "Alcibiade!
Alcibiade!" to the long-aproned waiter. I explained to Miss Spencer
that my companion had lately been her shipmate, and my
brother-in-law came up and was introduced to her. But she looked at
him as if she had never seen him before, and I remembered that he had
told me that her eyes were always fixed upon the eastward horizon. She
had evidently not noticed him, and, still timidly smiling, she made no
attempt whatever to pretend that she had. I stayed with her at the café

door, and he went back to the hotel and to his wife. I said to Miss
Spencer that this meeting of ours in the first hour of her landing was
really very strange, but that I was delighted to be there and receive her
first impressions.
"Oh, I can't tell you," she said; "I feel as if I were in a dream. I have
been sitting here for an hour, and I don't want to move. Everything is so
picturesque. I don't know whether the coffee has intoxicated me; it 's so
delicious."
"Really," said I, "if you are so pleased with this poor prosaic Havre,
you will have no admiration left for better things. Don't spend your
admiration all the first day; remember it's your intellectual letter of
credit. Remember all the beautiful places and things that are waiting for
you; remember that lovely Italy!"
"I 'm not afraid of running short," she said gayly, still looking at the
opposite houses. "I could sit here all day, saying to