When I arrived, the one
footman at the door told me Madame Grevy was un peu souffrante, would
see me up-stairs. I went up a side staircase, rather dark, preceded by
the footman, who ushered me into Madame Grevy's bedroom. It looked
perfectly uncomfortable--was large, with very high ceilings, stiff gilt
furniture standing against the wall, and the heat something awful,--a
blazing fire in the chimney. Madame Grevy was sitting in an armchair,
near the fire, a grey shawl on her shoulders and a lace fichu on her
head. It was curiously unlike the bedroom I had just left. I had been to
see a friend, who was also souffrante. She was lying under a lace
coverlet lined with pink silk, lace, and embroidered cushions all
around her, flowers, pink lamp-shades, silver flacons, everything most
luxurious and modern. The contrast was striking. Madame Grevy was very
civil, and talkative,--said she was very tired. The big dinners and late
hours she found very fatiguing. She quite understood that I was glad to
get away, but didn't think it was very prudent to travel in such
bitterly cold weather--and Rome was very far, and wasn't I afraid of
fever? I told her I was an old Roman--had lived there for years, knew
the climate well, and didn't think it was worse than any other.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294