He paused and stared hard at the ruddy glow of the firelight, as if he could see something pictured therein, something that brought a strange wistfulness to his fine old face.
"She was the loveliest and most charming woman I've ever seen!" he resumed emphatically. "As witty as she was beautiful; a gracious wit,--not the wit that wounds, no, no! 'A perfect woman nobly planned'--that was Anna Pendennis; to see her, to know her, was to love her! Did I say just now that she misused her influence at the Russian Court in the attempt to further what she believed to be a right and holy cause--the cause of freedom for an oppressed people? God forgive me if I did! At least she had no share in the diabolical plot that succeeded all too well,--the assassination of the only broad-minded and humane autocrat Russia has ever known. I'm a man of peace, sir, but I'd horsewhip any man who dared to say to my face that Anna Pendennis was a woman who lent herself to that devilry, or any other of the kind--yes, I'd do that even now, after the lapse of twenty-five years!"
"I know," I said huskily. "That's just how I feel about Anne. She must be very like her mother!"
He sat so long silent after that outburst that I feared he might not be willing to tell me any more of what I was painfully eager to hear.
"Did she--the Countess Anna--die here, sir?" I asked at last.
"I beg your pardon; I had almost forgotten you were there," he said apologetically. "Die here? No; better, far better for her if she had! Still, she was not happy here. The old people did not like her; did not try to like her; though I don't know how they could have held out against her, for she did her best to conciliate them, to conform to their narrow ways,--except to the extent of coming to church with them. She was a devout Roman Catholic, and she explained to me once how the tenacity with which the Polish gentry held to their religious views was one more cause of offence against them in the eyes of the Russian bureaucracy and episcopacy. I don't think Mrs. Pendennis--Anthony's mother--ever forgave me for the view I took of this matter; she threatened to write to the bishop. She was a masterful old lady--and I believe she would have done it, too, if Anthony and his wife had remained in the neighborhood. But the friction became unbearable, and he took her away. I never saw her again; never again!