Presently I heard a slow footstep beneath my window, and looking down, made out by the aid of a street lamp that Stanmer was but just coming home. I called to him to come to my rooms, and, after an interval, he made his appearance.
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Don't go to the trouble of saying you are sorry. Of course you are not; I must have bullied you immensely."He made no attempt to say he was sorry, but he said he was very glad to have made my acquaintance.
"Your conversation," he said, with his little innocent air, "has been very suggestive.""Have you found Camerino?" I asked, smiling.
"I have given up the search."
"Well," I said, "some day when you find that you have made a great mistake, remember I told you so."He looked for a minute as if he were trying to anticipate that day by the exercise of his reason.
"Has it ever occurred to you that YOU may have made a great mistake?""Oh yes; everything occurs to one sooner or later."That's what I said to him; but I didn't say that the question, pointed by his candid young countenance, had, for the moment, a greater force than it had ever had before.
And then he asked me whether, as things had turned out, I myself had been so especially happy.
PARIS, December 17th.--A note from young Stanmer, whom I saw in Florence--a remarkable little note, dated Rome, and worth transcribing.
"My dear General--I have it at heart to tell you that I was married a week ago to the Countess Salvi-Scarabelli. You talked me into a great muddle; but a month after that it was all very clear. Things that involve a risk are like the Christian faith; they must be seen from the inside.--Yours ever, E. S.