She returned on the morrow to Florence, under her cousin’s escort, and Ralph Touchett, though usually restive¹ under railway discipline, thought very well of the successive hours passed in the train that hurried his companion away from the city now distinguished² by Gilbert Osmond’s preference — hours that were to form the first stage in a larger scheme of travel. Miss Stackpole had remained behind; she was planning a little trip to Naples, to be carried out with Mr. Bantling’s aid. Isabel was to have three days in Florence before the 4th of June, the date of Mrs. Touchett’s departure, and she determined³ to devote the last of these to her promise to call on Pansy Osmond. Her plan, however, seemed for a moment likely to modify itself in deference⁴ to an idea of Madame Merle’s. This lady was still at Casa Touchett; but she too was on the point of leaving Florence, her next station being an ancient castle in the mountains of Tuscany, the residence of a noble family of that country, whose acquaintance (she had known them, as she said, “forever”) seemed to Isabel, in the light of certain photographs of their immense crenellated dwelling⁵ which her friend was able to show her, a precious privilege. She mentioned to this fortunate woman that Mr. Osmond had asked her to take a look at his daughter, but didn’t mention that he had also made her a declaration of love.

 

“Ah, comme cela se trouve!” Madame Merle exclaimed. “I myself have been thinking it would be a kindness to pay the child a little visit before I go off.”

 

“We can go together then,” Isabel reasonably said: “reasonably” because the proposal was not uttered in the spirit of enthusiasm. She had prefigured her small pilgrimage as made in solitude⁶; she should like it better so. She was nevertheless prepared to sacrifice this mystic sentiment to her great consideration for her friend.

 

That personage finely

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