She was not at all penitent now. She had probably studied the
subject, and had resolved that penitence was more alluring in a
letter than when acted in person. She received her guest with perfect
ease, and apologised for the injury done to him in the preceding
week, with much self-complacency. "I was so sorry when I got your
card," she said; "and yet I am so glad now that you were refused."
"If you were ill," said the Duke, "it was better."
"I was horribly ill, to tell the truth;--as pale as a death's head,
and without a word to say for myself. I was fit to see no one."
"Then of course you were right."
"But it flashed upon me immediately that I had named a day, and that
you had been kind enough to remember it. But I did not think you came
to London till the March winds were over."
"The March winds blow everywhere in this wretched island, Madame
Goesler, and there is no escaping them. Youth may prevail against
them; but on me they are so potent that I think they will succeed in
driving me out of my country. I doubt whether an old man should ever
live in England if he can help it."
The Duke certainly was an old man, if a man turned of seventy be
old;--and he was a man too who did not bear his years with hearty
strength. He moved slowly, and turned his limbs, when he did turn
them, as though the joints were stiff in their sockets.
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