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"
Dr
.
Robert
Stadler
once
told
me
that
when
you
were
at
the
Patrick
Henry
University
,
you
had
three
students
who
were
your
favorites
and
his
,
three
brilliant
minds
from
whom
you
expected
a
great
future
.
One
of
them
was
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
.
"
"
Yes
.
Another
was
Ragnar
Danneskjold
.
"
"
Incidentally
—
this
is
not
my
question
—
who
was
the
third
?
"
"
His
name
would
mean
nothing
to
you
.
He
is
not
famous
.
"
"
Dr
.
Stadler
said
that
you
and
he
were
rivals
over
these
three
students
,
because
you
both
regarded
them
as
your
sons
.
"
"
Rivals
?
He
lost
them
.
"
"
Tell
me
,
are
you
proud
of
the
way
these
three
have
turned
out
?
"
He
looked
off
,
into
the
distance
,
at
the
dying
fire
of
the
sunset
on
the
farthest
rocks
;
his
face
had
the
look
of
a
father
who
watches
his
sons
bleeding
on
a
battlefield
.
He
answered
:
"
More
proud
than
I
had
ever
hoped
to
be
.
"
It
was
almost
dark
.
He
turned
sharply
,
took
a
package
of
cigarettes
from
his
pocket
,
pulled
out
one
cigarette
,
but
stopped
,
remembering
her
presence
,
as
if
he
had
forgotten
it
for
a
moment
,
and
extended
the
package
to
her
.
She
took
a
cigarette
and
he
struck
the
brief
flare
of
a
match
,
then
shook
it
out
,
leaving
only
two
small
points
of
fire
in
the
darkness
of
a
glass
room
and
of
miles
of
mountains
beyond
it
.
