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We
all
regarded
medicine
as
a
religion
,
and
we
called
ourselves
the
Society
of
Reason
.
We
saw
the
doctors
of
the
world
uniting
to
form
a
scientific
and
ethical
elite
.
We
should
be
in
every
land
and
in
every
government
,
moral
supermen
who
would
eradicate
all
demagogy
,
all
self
-
seeking
politicians
,
reaction
,
chauvinism
.
We
published
a
manifesto
.
We
held
a
public
meeting
in
a
cinema
at
Neuilly
.
But
the
Communists
got
to
hear
of
it
.
They
called
us
Fascists
and
wrecked
the
cinema
.
We
tried
another
meeting
in
another
place
.
That
was
attended
by
a
group
who
called
themselves
the
Militia
of
Christian
Youth
—
Catholic
ultras
.
Their
manners
,
if
not
their
faces
,
were
identical
with
those
of
the
Communists
.
Which
was
what
they
termed
us
.
So
our
grand
scheme
for
utopianizing
the
world
was
settled
in
two
scuffles
.
And
heavy
bills
for
damages
.
I
was
secretary
of
the
Society
of
Reason
.
Nothing
could
have
been
less
reasonable
than
my
fellow
members
when
it
came
to
paying
their
share
of
the
bills
.
No
doubt
we
deserved
what
we
received
.
Any
fool
can
invent
a
plan
for
a
more
reasonable
world
.
In
ten
minutes
.
In
five
.
But
to
expect
people
to
live
reasonably
is
like
asking
them
to
live
on
paregoric
.
"
He
turned
to
me
.
"
Would
you
like
to
read
our
manifesto
,
Nicholas
?
"
"
Very
much
.
"
"
I
will
go
and
get
it
.
And
fetch
the
brandy
.
"
And
so
,
so
soon
,
I
was
alone
with
Lily
.
But
before
I
could
phrase
the
right
remark
,
the
question
that
would
show
her
I
saw
no
reason
why
in
Conchis
’
s
absence
she
should
maintain
the
pretending
to
believe
,
she
stood
up
.
"
Shall
we
walk
up
and
down
?
"
I
walked
beside
her
.
She
was
only
an
inch
or
two
shorter
than
myself
,
and
she
walked
slowly
,
slimly
,
with
elegance
,
looking
out
to
sea
,
avoiding
my
eyes
,
as
if
she
now
was
shy
.
I
looked
around
.
Conchis
was
out
of
hearing
.
"
Have
you
been
here
long
?
"
"
I
have
not
been
anywhere
long
.
"
"
I
meant
on
the
island
.
"
"
So
did
I
.
"
She
gave
me
a
quick
look
,
softened
by
a
little
smile
.
We
had
gone
round
the
other
arm
of
the
terrace
,
into
the
shadow
cast
by
the
corner
of
the
bedroom
wall
.
"
An
excellent
return
of
service
,
Miss
Montgomery
.
"
"
If
you
play
tennis
,
I
must
play
tennis
back
.
"
"
Must
?
"
"
Maurice
must
have
asked
you
not
to
question
me
.
"
"
Oh
come
on
.
In
front
of
him
,
okay
.
I
mean
,
good
God
,
we
’
re
both
English
,
aren
’
t
we
?
"
"
That
gives
us
the
freedom
to
be
rude
to
each
other
?
"
"
To
get
to
know
each
other
.
"
"
Perhaps
we
are
not
equally
interested
in
…
getting
to
know
each
other
.
"
She
looked
away
out
over
the
night
.
I
was
nettled
.
"
You
do
this
thing
very
charmingly
.
But
what
exactly
is
the
game
?
"
"
Please
.
"
Her
voice
was
faintly
sharp
.
"
I
really
cannot
stand
this
.
"
I
guessed
why
she
had
brought
me
around
into
the
shadow
.
I
couldn
’
t
see
much
of
her
face
.
"
Stand
what
?
"
She
turned
and
looked
at
me
and
said
,
in
a
quiet
but
fiercely
precise
voice
,
"
Mr
.
Urfe
.
"
I
was
put
in
my
place
.
She
went
and
stood
against
the
parapet
at
the
far
end
of
the
terrace
,
looking
towards
the
central
ridge
to
the
north
.
A
breath
of
listless
air
from
the
sea
washed
behind
us
.
"
Would
you
shawl
me
please
?
"
"
Would
I
?
"
"
My
wrap
.
"
I
hesitated
,
then
turned
and
went
back
for
the
indigo
wrap
.
Conchis
was
still
indoors
.
I
returned
and
put
it
around
her
shoulders
,
then
stood
beside
her
.
Without
warning
she
reached
her
hand
sideways
and
took
mine
and
pressed
it
,
as
if
to
give
me
courage
;
and
to
make
me
identify
her
with
the
original
,
gentle
Lily
.
She
remained
staring
out
across
the
clearing
to
the
trees
.
"
Why
did
you
do
that
?
"
"
I
did
not
mean
to
be
unkind
.
"
I
mimicked
her
formal
tone
.
"
Can
,
may
I
,
ask
you
…
where
you
live
here
?
"
She
turned
and
leant
against
the
edge
of
the
parapet
,
so
that
we
were
facing
opposite
ways
,
and
came
to
a
decision
.
"
Over
there
.
"
She
pointed
with
her
fan
.
"
That
’
s
the
sea
.
Or
are
you
pointing
at
thin
air
?
"
"
I
assure
you
I
live
over
there
.
"
An
idea
struck
me
.
"
On
a
yacht
?
"
"
On
land
.
"
"
Curious
I
’
ve
never
seen
your
house
.
"
"
I
expect
you
have
the
wrong
kind
of
sight
.
"
I
could
just
make
out
that
she
had
a
little
smile
at
the
corner
of
her
lips
.
We
were
standing
very
close
.
The
perfume
around
us
.
"
I
’
m
being
teased
.
"
"
Perhaps
you
are
teasing
yourself
.
"
"
I
hate
being
teased
.
"
She
looked
at
me
from
the
corner
of
her
eyes
;
a
shy
malice
.
"
You
prefer
to
tease
?
"
"
Usually
.
But
I
don
’
t
mind
being
teased
by
someone
as
pretty
and
gifted
as
you
are
.
"
She
made
a
little
mock
inclination
.
She
had
a
beautiful
neck
;
the
throat
of
a
Nefertiti
.
The
photo
in
Conchis
’
s
room
made
her
look
heavy
-
chinned
,
but
she
wasn
’
t
.
"
Then
I
shall
continue
to
tease
you
.
"
There
was
silence
.
Conchis
was
away
far
too
long
for
the
excuse
he
had
given
;
I
remembered
the
miserable
Janet
’
s
mother
,
who
used
to
invent
elephantine
excuses
to
leave
the
two
of
us
together
in
the
sitting
room
,
during
my
year
of
purgatory
in
S
—
.
Her
question
took
me
by
surprise
.
"
Do
you
love
Maurice
?
"
She
made
no
attempt
to
anglicize
the
French
pronunciation
,
but
sounded
it
with
a
rather
precious
exactitude
.
"
This
is
only
the
third
time
I
’
ve
met
him
.
"
She
appeared
to
wait
for
me
to
go
on
.
"
I
’
m
very
grateful
for
his
asking
me
over
here
.
Especially
now
.
"
She
cut
short
my
compliment
.
"
You
see
,
we
all
love
him
very
much
.
"
"
Who
is
we
?
"
"
His
other
visitors
and
myself
.
"
I
could
hear
the
inverted
commas
.
She
had
turned
to
face
me
.
"
’
Visitor
’
seems
an
odd
way
of
putting
it
.
"
"
Maurice
does
not
like
’
ghost
.
’
"
I
smiled
.
"
Or
’
actress
’
?
"
Her
face
betrayed
not
the
least
preparedness
to
concede
,
to
give
up
her
role
.
"
We
are
all
actors
and
actresses
,
Mr
.
Urfe
.
You
included
.
"
"
Of
course
.
On
the
stage
of
the
world
.
"
She
smiled
and
looked
down
.
"
Be
patient
.
"
"
Willingly
.
I
couldn
’
t
imagine
anyone
I
’
d
rather
be
more
patient
with
.
Or
credulous
about
.
"
Our
eyes
met
.
Once
again
she
let
the
mask
slip
;
for
a
fraction
of
a
moment
;
a
sincerity
that
begged
.
"
Not
for
me
.
For
Maurice
.
"
"
And
for
Maurice
.
"
"
I
will
help
.
"
"
Me
?
To
do
what
?
"
"
To
understand
.
"
"
Then
I
certainly
promise
to
obey
the
rules
.
"
Our
eyes
still
met
.
There
was
a
sound
from
the
table
.
She
reached
out
and
took
my
arm
.
We
turned
.
Conchis
was
standing
there
As
we
came
towards
him
,
her
arm
lightly
but
formally
in
mine
,
he
gave
us
both
his
little
interrogatory
headshake
.
"
Mr
.
Urfe
is
very
understanding
.
"
"
I
am
glad
.
"
"
All
will
be
well
.
"
She
smiled
at
me
and
sat
down
and
remained
thoughtfully
for
a
while
with
her
chin
resting
on
her
hand
.
Conchis
had
poured
her
a
minute
glass
of
crème
de
menthe
,
which
she
sipped
.
He
pointed
to
an
envelope
he
had
put
in
my
place
.
"
The
manifesto
.
It
took
me
a
long
time
to
find
.
Read
it
later
.
There
is
an
anonymous
criticism
of
great
force
at
the
end
.
"
"
I
still
loved
,
at
any
rate
still
practiced
,
music
.
I
had
the
big
Pleyel
harpsichord
I
use
here
in
our
Paris
flat
.
One
warm
day
in
spring
,
it
would
have
been
in
1920
,
I
was
playing
by
chance
with
the
windows
open
,
when
the
bell
rang
.
The
maid
came
in
to
say
that
a
gentleman
had
called
and
wished
to
speak
to
me
.
In
fact
,
the
gentleman
was
already
behind
the
maid
.
He
corrected
her
—
he
wanted
to
listen
to
me
,
not
speak
to
me
.
He
was
such
an
extraordinary
-
looking
man
that
I
hardly
noticed
the
extraordinariness
of
the
intrusion
.
About
sixty
,
extremely
tall
,
faultlessly
dressed
,
a
gardenia
in
his
buttonhole
…
"
I
looked
sharply
at
Conchis
.
He
had
turned
and
,
as
he
seemed
to
like
to
,
was
looking
out
to
sea
as
he
spoke
.
Lily
swiftly
,
discreetly
raised
her
finger
to
her
lips
.
"
And
also
—
at
first
sight
—
excessively
morose
.
There
was
beneath
the
archducal
dignity
something
deeply
mournful
about
him
.
Like
the
actor
Jouvet
,
but
without
his
sarcasm
.
Later
I
was
to
discover
that
he
was
less
miserable
than
he
appeared
.
Almost
without
words
he
sat
down
in
an
armchair
and
listened
to
me
play
.
And
when
I
had
finished
,
almost
without
words
he
picked
up
his
hat
and
his
amber
-
topped
stick
…
"
I
grinned
.
Lily
saw
my
grin
,
but
looked
down
and
refused
to
share
it
,
as
if
to
ban
it
.
"
…
and
presented
me
with
his
card
and
asked
me
to
call
on
him
the
next
week
.
The
card
told
me
that
his
name
was
Alphonse
de
Deukans
.
He
was
a
count
.
I
duly
presented
myself
at
his
apartment
.
It
was
very
large
,
furnished
with
the
severest
elegance
.
A
manservant
showed
me
into
a
salon
.
De
Deukans
rose
to
greet
me
.
At
once
he
took
me
,
with
the
minimum
of
words
,
through
to
another
room
.
And
there
were
five
or
six
harpsichords
,
old
ones
,
splendid
ones
,
all
museum
pieces
,
both
as
musical
instruments
and
as
decorative
objects
.
He
invited
me
to
try
them
all
,
and
then
he
played
himself
.
Not
as
well
as
I
could
then
.
But
very
passably
.
Later
he
offered
me
a
collation
and
we
sat
on
Boulard
chairs
,
gravely
swallowing
marennes
and
drinking
a
Moselle
that
he
told
me
came
from
his
own
vineyard
.
So
began
the
most
remarkable
friendship
of
my
life
.
"
I
learnt
nothing
about
him
for
many
months
,
although
I
saw
him
often
.
This
was
because
he
had
never
anything
to
say
about
himself
or
his
past
.
And
discouraged
every
kind
of
question
.
All
that
I
could
find
out
was
that
his
family
came
from
Belgium
.
That
he
was
immensely
rich
.
That
he
appeared
,
from
choice
,
to
have
very
few
friends
.
No
relations
.
And
that
he
was
,
without
being
a
homosexual
,
a
misogynist
.
All
his
servants
were
men
,
and
he
never
referred
to
women
except
with
contempt
and
distaste
.
"
De
,
Deukans
’
s
real
life
was
lived
not
in
Paris
,
but
at
his
great
chateau
in
eastern
France
.
It
was
built
by
some
peculating
surintendant
in
the
late
seventeenth
century
,
and
set
in
a
park
far
larger
than
this
island
.
One
saw
the
slate
-
blue
turrets
and
white
walls
from
many
miles
away
.
And
I
remember
,
on
my
first
visit
,
some
months
after
our
first
meeting
,
I
was
very
intimidated
.
It
was
an
October
day
,
all
the
cornfields
of
the
Champagne
had
long
been
cut
.
A
bluish
mist
over
everything
,
an
autumn
smoke
.
I
arrived
at
Givray
-
le
-
Duc
in
the
car
that
had
been
sent
to
fetch
me
,
I
was
taken
up
a
splendid
staircase
to
my
room
,
or
rather
my
suite
of
rooms
,
and
then
I
was
invited
to
go
out
into
the
park
to
meet
de
Deukans
.
All
his
servants
were
like
himself
—
silent
,
grave
-
looking
men
.
There
was
never
laughter
around
him
.
Or
running
feet
.
No
noise
,
no
excitement
.
But
calm
and
order
.
"
I
followed
the
servant
through
a
huge
formal
garden
—
Lenôtre
had
laid
it
out
—
behind
the
chateau
.
Past
box
-
hedges
and
statuary
and
over
freshly
raked
gravel
,
and
then
down
through
an
arboretum
to
a
small
lake
.
We
came
out
at
its
edge
and
on
a
small
point
some
hundred
yards
ahead
I
saw
,
over
the
still
water
and
through
the
October
leaves
,
an
Oriental
teahouse
.
The
servant
bowed
and
left
me
to
go
on
my
way
alone
.
The
path
led
beside
the
lake
,
over
a
small
stream
.
There
was
no
wind
.
Mist
,
silence
,
a
beautiful
but
rather
melancholy
calm
.
"
The
teahouse
was
approached
over
grass
,
so
de
Deukans
could
not
hear
me
coming
.
He
was
seated
on
a
mat
staring
out
over
the
lake
.
A
willow
-
covered
islet
.
Ornamental
geese
that
floated
on
the
water
as
on
a
silk
painting
.
Though
his
head
was
European
,
his
clothes
were
Japanese
.
I
shall
never
forget
that
moment
.
How
shall
I
say
it
—
that
mise
en
paysage
.
"
His
whole
park
was
arranged
to
provide
him
with
such
décors
,
such
ambiences
.
There
was
a
little
classical
temple
,
a
rotunda
.
An
English
garden
,
a
Moorish
one
.
But
I
always
think
of
him
sitting
there
on
his
tatami
in
a
loose
kimono
.
Grayish
-
blue
,
the
color
of
the
mist
.
It
was
unnatural
,
of
course
.
But
all
dandyism
and
eccentricity
is
more
or
less
unnatural
in
a
world
dominated
by
the
desperate
struggle
for
economic
survival
.
"
Constantly
,
during
that
first
visit
,
I
was
shocked
,
as
a
would
-
be
socialist
.
And
ravished
,
as
an
homme
sensuel
.
Givray
-
le
-
Duc
was
nothing
more
or
less
than
a
vast
museum
.
There
were
countless
galleries
,
of
paintings
,
of
porcelain
,
of
objets
d
’
art
of
all
kinds
.
A
famous
library
.
A
really
unsurpassed
collection
of
early
keyboard
instruments
.
Clavichords
,
spinets
,
virginals
,
lutes
,
guitars
.
One
never
knew
what
one
would
find
.
A
room
of
Renaissance
bronzes
.
A
case
of
Breguets
.
A
wall
of
magnificent
Rouen
and
Nevers
faience
.
An
armory
.
A
cabinet
of
Greek
and
Roman
coins
.
I
could
inventory
all
night
,
for
he
had
devoted
all
his
life
to
this
collecting
of
collections
.
The
Boulles
and
Rieseners
alone
were
enough
to
furnish
six
châteaux
.
I
suppose
only
the
Heriford
Collection
could
have
rivaled
it
in
modern
times
.
Indeed
when
the
Hertford
was
split
up
,
de
Deukans
had
bought
many
of
the
best
pieces
in
the
Sackville
legacy
.
Seligmann
’
s
gave
him
first
choice
.
He
collected
in
order
to
collect
,
of
course
.
Art
had
not
then
become
a
branch
of
the
stock
market
.
"
On
a
later
visit
he
took
me
to
a
locked
gallery
.
In
it
he
kept
his
company
of
automata
—
puppets
,
some
almost
human
in
size
,
that
seemed
to
have
stepped
,
or
whirled
,
out
of
a
Hoffman
story
.
A
man
who
conducted
an
invisible
orchestra
.
Two
soldiers
who
fought
a
duel
.
A
prima
donna
from
whose
mouth
tinkled
an
aria
from
La
Serva
Padrona
.
A
girl
who
curtseyed
to
a
man
who
bowed
,
and
then
danced
a
pallid
and
ghostly
minuet
with
him
.
But
the
chief
piece
was
Mirabelle
,
la
Maltresse
-
Machine
.
A
naked
woman
who
when
set
in
motion
lay
back
in
her
faded
four
-
poster
bed
,
drew
up
her
knees
and
then
opened
them
together
with
her
arms
.
As
her
human
master
lay
on
top
of
her
,
the
arms
closed
and
held
him
.
But
de
Deukans
cherished
her
most
because
she
had
a
device
that
made
it
unlikely
that
she
would
ever
cuckold
her
owner
.
Unless
one
moved
a
small
lever
at
the
back
of
her
head
,
at
a
certain
pressure
her
arms
would
clasp
with
vicelike
strength
.
And
then
a
stiletto
on
a
strong
spring
struck
upwards
through
the
adulterer
’
s
groin
.
This
repulsive
thing
had
been
made
in
Italy
in
the
early
nineteenth
century
.
For
the
Sultan
of
Turkey
.
When
de
Deukans
demonstrated
her
’
fidelity
’
he
turned
and
said
,
’
C
’
est
cc
qui
en
elle
est
le
plus
vraisemblable
.
’
’
It
is
the
most
lifelike
thing
about
her
.
"
I
looked
at
Lily
covertly
.
She
was
staring
down
at
her
hands
.
"
He
kept
Madame
Mirabelle
behind
locked
doors
.
But
in
his
private
chapel
he
kept
an
even
more
—
to
my
mind
—
obscene
object
.
It
was
encased
in
a
magnificent
early
medieval
reliquary
.
It
looked
much
like
a
withered
,
dusty
sea
cucumber
.
De
Deukans
called
it
,
without
any
wish
to
be
humorous
,
the
Holy
Member
.
He
knew
,
of
course
,
that
a
merely
cartilaginous
object
could
not
possibly
survive
so
long
.
There
are
at
least
sixteen
other
Holy
Members
in
Europe
.
Mostly
from
mummies
,
and
all
equally
discredited
.
