expression of her face--something too subtle to express itself in words
or tones, but giving one the idea that she lived in a state of
expectation or hopeful suspense. My chief feeling was satisfaction that
her inner self was once more shut out from me; and I almost revelled for
the moment in the absent melancholy that made me answer her at cross
purposes, and betray utter ignorance of what she had been saying. I
remember well the look and the smile with which she one day said, after a
mistake of this kind on my part: "I used to think you were a clairvoyant,
and that was the reason why you were so bitter against other
clairvoyants, wanting to keep your monopoly; but I see now you have
become rather duller than the rest of the world."

I said nothing in reply. It occurred to me that her recent obtrusion of
herself upon me might have been prompted by the wish to test my power of
detecting some of her secrets; but I let the thought drop again at once:
her motives and her deeds had no interest for me, and whatever pleasures
she might be seeking, I had no wish to baulk her. There was still pity
in my soul for every living thing, and Bertha was living--was surrounded
with possibilities of misery.

Just at this time there occurred an event which roused me somewhat from
my inertia, and gave me an interest in the passing moment that I had
thought impossible for me. It was a visit from Charles Meunier, who had
written me word that he was coming to England for relaxation from too
strenuous labour, and would like too see me. Meunier had now a European
reputation; but his letter to me expressed that keen remembrance of an
early regard, an early debt of sympathy, which is inseparable from
nobility of character: and I too felt as if his presence would be to me
like a transient resurrection into a happier pre-existence.