Of course it isn't every day that one meets a
mother that lives by her wits and a son that lives by his sword,
but there was a perfect finish about their ambiguous personalities
which is not to be met twice in a life-time. I shall never forget
that grey dress with ample skirts and long corsage yet with
infinite style, the ancient as if ghostly beauty of outlines, the
black lace, the silver hair, the harmonious, restrained movements
of those white, soft hands like the hands of a queen--or an abbess;
and in the general fresh effect of her person the brilliant eyes
like two stars with the calm reposeful way they had of moving on
and off one, as if nothing in the world had the right to veil
itself before their once sovereign beauty. Captain Blunt with
smiling formality introduced me by name, adding with a certain
relaxation of the formal tone the comment: "The Monsieur George!
whose fame you tell me has reached even Paris." Mrs. Blunt's
reception of me, glance, tones, even to the attitude of the
admirably corseted figure, was most friendly, approaching the limit
of half-familiarity. I had the feeling that I was beholding in her
a captured ideal. No common experience! But I didn't care.
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