Americans -- France -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction; Psychological fiction; Young men -- Fiction
When one morning within the week he perceived the whole thing to be
really at last upon him Strether’s immediate feeling was all relief. He
had known this morning that something was about to happen—known it, in
a moment, by Waymarsh’s manner when Waymarsh appeared before him during
his brief consumption of coffee and a roll in the small slippery
_salle-à-manger_ so associated with rich rumination. Strether had taken
there of late various lonely and absent-minded meals; he communed
there, even at the end of June, with a suspected chill, the air of old
shivers mixed with old savours, the air in which so many of his
impressions had perversely matured; the place meanwhile renewing its
message to him by the very circumstance of his single state. He now sat
there, for the most part, to sigh softly, while he vaguely tilted his
carafe, over the vision of how much better Waymarsh was occupied. That
was really his success by the common measure—to have led this companion
so on and on. He remembered how at first there had been scarce a
squatting-place he could beguile him into passing; the actual outcome
of which at last was that there was scarce one that could arrest him in
his rush. His rush—as Strether vividly and amusedly figured
it—continued to be all with Sarah, and contained perhaps moreover the
word of the whole enigma, whipping up in its fine full-flavoured froth
the very principle, for good or for ill, of his own, of Strether’s
destiny. It might after all, to the end, only be that they had united
to save him, and indeed, so far as Waymarsh was concerned, that _had_
to be the spring of action. Strether was glad at all events, in
connexion with the case, that the saving he required was not more
scant; so constituted a luxury was it in certain lights just to lurk
there out of the full glare. He had moments of quite seriously
wondering whether Waymarsh wouldn’t in fact, thanks to old friendship
and a conceivable indulgence, make about as good terms for him as he
might make for himself. They wouldn’t be the same terms of course; but
they might have the advantage that he himself probably should be able
to make none at all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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