“To this ostentatious hotel a family of modest air came two days ago.
It was a family made up of five persons; two ladies, one of them plain,
thin, spectacled, the other plumper and short; a merry girl, smiling
and rosy, and a melancholy little girl, with a waxen face. They were
accompanied by a man with a distinguished, weary manner.
“They are all in mourning. They are English; they treat one another with
an attractive affability. The short lady, mother of the two girls, was
pressing the man’s hand and caressing it, during lunch the first day. He
kept smiling in a gentle, tired way. No doubt he was unable to stay here
long, for he did not appear that evening, and the four females were
alone in the dining-room.
“The two ladies and the fresh, blooming girl are much preoccupied about
the pale little girl, so much so that they do not notice the interest
they arouse among the guests. All the old ‘misses,’ loaded with jewels,
watch the family in mourning, as if they were wondering: ‘How come they
here, if their position is not so good as ours? How dare they mix among
us, not being in our class?’
“And it is a fact; they cannot be; there is something that shows that
this family is not rich. Besides, and this is extraordinary enough, it
seems that they haven’t come here to look down on others, or to give
themselves airs, but to take walks and to look at the immaculate peaks
of Mont Blanc. So one sees the two girls going out into the country
without making an elaborate toilet, carrying a book or an orange in
their hands, and coming back with bunches of flowers....”
_TRAGEDY IN A HOTEL ROOM_
“This morning at lunch only one of the ladies appeared in the
dining-room.
“‘Perhaps the others have gone off on some picnic,’ thought I.
“In the evening at dinner, the tall woman with the glasses and the
larger of the two girls were at table. They didn’t eat, and disquietude
was painted on their faces; the girl had flushed cheeks and swollen
eyes.
“‘What can be happening to them?’ I asked myself.
“At that juncture, in came the short lady, with two vials of medicine
in her hand, and put them on the table. By what I could hear of the
conversation, she had just come from Lausanne, where she had gone for
the doctor. The melancholy little girl, the one with the waxen face,
must be ill.
“No doubt the family have come to Switzerland for the sake of the child,
who is probably delicate, and have made a sacrifice to do so. That
explains their modest air, and the rapid departure of the man who
brought them.
“The three women gazed sadly at one another. What can the poor child
have? I remember nothing about her, except her hair parted in the
middle, and the pallid colour of her bloodless skin, and nevertheless it
makes me sad to think that she is sick.
“I should like to offer myself to these women at this crisis; I should
like to say to them: ‘I am a humble person, without money; but if I
could be useful to you in any way, I would do it with all my heart; and
that is more than I would do for this gang covered with brilliants.’
“The German who eats at the next table to the family understands what is
happening, and he leaves off eating to look at them, and then looks at
me with his blue eyes. At last he shrugs his shoulders, lowers his head,
and empties a glass of wine at one gulp.
“The three women rise and go to their rooms. One hears them coming and
going in the corridor; then a waiter takes their dinner upstairs.
“And while the family are desolate up there, down here in the ‘hall’ the
‘misses’ keep on looking at one another contemptuously, exhibiting rings
that sparkle on their fingers, and which would keep hundreds of people
alive; and while they are weeping upstairs, down here a blond Yankee
woman, with a large blue hat, a friend of Susanna’s, who flirts with a
youth from Chicago, is laughing heartily, showing a set of white teeth
in which there shines a chip of gold.”
_SUSANNA DOES NOT UNDERSTAND_
“I have spoken to Susanna about the poor English girl, who, they say, is
dying; and she has bidden me not to tell her sad things. She cannot bear
other people’s suffering. She says she is more sensitive than others.
How very comical!
“This fine lady, who thinks herself so witty and so sensitive, has
an inner skin like a hippopotamus; she is covered with a magnificent
egoism, which must be at least of galvanized steel. Her armour protects
her against the action of other people’s miseries and pains.
“This woman, so beautiful, is of a grotesque egotism; one understands
her husband’s despising her.
“I am leaving her with her millions and going away to Spain.”