I have said that she would sit there resolving, or trying to resolve.  There is nothing in the world so difficult as that task of making up one’s mind.  Who is there that has not longed that the power and privilege of selection among alternatives should be taken away from him in some important crisis of his life, and that his conduct should be arranged for him, either this way or that, by some divine power if it were possible,—­by some patriarchal power in the absence of divinity,—­or by chance even, if nothing better than chance could be found to do it?  But no one dares to cast the die, and to go honestly by the hazard.  There must be the actual necessity of obeying the die, before even the die can be of any use.  As it was, when Madame Goesler had sat there for an hour, till her legs were tired beneath her, she had not resolved.  It must be as her impulse should direct her when the important moment came.  There was not a soul on earth to whom she could go for counsel, and when she asked herself for counsel, the counsel would not come.

Two days afterwards the Duke called again.  He would come generally on a Thursday,—­early, so that he might be there before other visitors; and he had already quite learned that when he was there other visitors would probably be refused admittance.  How Lady Glencora had made her way in, telling the servant that her uncle was there, he had not understood.  That visit had been made on the Thursday, but now he came on the Saturday,—­having, I regret to say, sent down some early fruit from his own hot-houses,—­or from Covent Garden,—­with a little note on the previous day.  The grapes might have been pretty well, but the note was injudicious.  There were three lines about the grapes, as to which there was some special history, the vine having been brought from the garden of some villa in which some ill-used queen had lived and died; and then there was a postscript in one line to say that the Duke would call on the following morning.  I do not think that he had meant to add this when he began his note; but then children, who want the top brick, want it so badly, and cry for it so perversely!

Of course Madame Goesler was at home.  But even then she had not made up her mind.  She had made up her mind only to this,—­that he should be made to speak plainly, and that she would take time for her reply.  Not even with such a gem as the Duke’s coronet before her eyes, would she jump at it.  Where there was so much doubt, there need at least be no impatience.

“You ran away the other day, Duke, because you could not resist the charm of that little boy,” she said, laughing.

“He is a dear little boy,—­but it was not that,” he answered.

“Then what was it?  Your niece carried you off in a whirl-wind.  She was come and gone, taking you with her, in half a minute.”

“She had disturbed me when I was thinking of something,” said the Duke.