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"
I
say
,
father
:
what
was
she
like
?
"
Archer
felt
his
colour
rise
under
his
son
's
unabashed
gaze
.
"
Come
,
own
up
:
you
and
she
were
great
pals
,
were
n't
you
?
Was
n't
she
most
awfully
lovely
?
"
"
Lovely
?
I
do
n't
know
.
She
was
different
.
"
"
Ah
--
there
you
have
it
!
That
's
what
it
always
comes
to
,
does
n't
it
?
When
she
comes
,
SHE
'S
DIFFERENT
--
and
one
does
n't
know
why
.
It
's
exactly
what
I
feel
about
Fanny
.
"
His
father
drew
back
a
step
,
releasing
his
arm
.
"
About
Fanny
?
But
,
my
dear
fellow
--
I
should
hope
so
!
Only
I
do
n't
see
--
"
"
Dash
it
,
Dad
,
do
n't
be
prehistoric
!
Was
n't
she
--
once
--
your
Fanny
?
"
Dallas
belonged
body
and
soul
to
the
new
generation
.
He
was
the
first-born
of
Newland
and
May
Archer
,
yet
it
had
never
been
possible
to
inculcate
in
him
even
the
rudiments
of
reserve
.
"
What
's
the
use
of
making
mysteries
?
It
only
makes
people
want
to
nose
'em
out
,
"
he
always
objected
when
enjoined
to
discretion
.
But
Archer
,
meeting
his
eyes
,
saw
the
filial
light
under
their
banter
.
"
My
Fanny
?
"
"
Well
,
the
woman
you
'd
have
chucked
everything
for
:
only
you
did
n't
,
"
continued
his
surprising
son
.
"
I
did
n't
,
"
echoed
Archer
with
a
kind
of
solemnity
.
"
No
:
you
date
,
you
see
,
dear
old
boy
.
But
mother
said
--
"
"
Your
mother
?
"
"
Yes
:
the
day
before
she
died
.
It
was
when
she
sent
for
me
alone
--
you
remember
?
She
said
she
knew
we
were
safe
with
you
,
and
always
would
be
,
because
once
,
when
she
asked
you
to
,
you
'd
given
up
the
thing
you
most
wanted
.
"
Archer
received
this
strange
communication
in
silence
.
His
eyes
remained
unseeingly
fixed
on
the
thronged
sunlit
square
below
the
window
.
At
length
he
said
in
a
low
voice
:
"
She
never
asked
me
.
"
"
No
.
I
forgot
.
You
never
did
ask
each
other
anything
,
did
you
?
And
you
never
told
each
other
anything
.
You
just
sat
and
watched
each
other
,
and
guessed
at
what
was
going
on
underneath
.
A
deaf-and-dumb
asylum
,
in
fact
!
Well
,
I
back
your
generation
for
knowing
more
about
each
other
's
private
thoughts
than
we
ever
have
time
to
find
out
about
our
own
.
--
I
say
,
Dad
,
"
Dallas
broke
off
,
"
you
're
not
angry
with
me
?
If
you
are
,
let
's
make
it
up
and
go
and
lunch
at
Henri
's
.
I
've
got
to
rush
out
to
Versailles
afterward
.
"
Archer
did
not
accompany
his
son
to
Versailles
.
He
preferred
to
spend
the
afternoon
in
solitary
roamings
through
Paris
.
He
had
to
deal
all
at
once
with
the
packed
regrets
and
stifled
memories
of
an
inarticulate
lifetime.After
a
little
while
he
did
not
regret
Dallas
's
indiscretion
.
It
seemed
to
take
an
iron
band
from
his
heart
to
know
that
,
after
all
,
some
one
had
guessed
and
pitied
...
And
that
it
should
have
been
his
wife
moved
him
indescribably
.
Dallas
,
for
all
his
affectionate
insight
,
would
not
have
understood
that
.
To
the
boy
,
no
doubt
,
the
episode
was
only
a
pathetic
instance
of
vain
frustration
,
of
wasted
forces
.
But
was
it
really
no
more
?
For
a
long
time
Archer
sat
on
a
bench
in
the
Champs
Elysees
and
wondered
,
while
the
stream
of
life
rolled
by
...
A
few
streets
away
,
a
few
hours
away
,
Ellen
Olenska
waited
.
She
had
never
gone
back
to
her
husband
,
and
when
he
had
died
,
some
years
before
,
she
had
made
no
change
in
her
way
of
living
.
There
was
nothing
now
to
keep
her
and
Archer
apart
--
and
that
afternoon
he
was
to
see
her
.
He
got
up
and
walked
across
the
Place
de
la
Concorde
and
the
Tuileries
gardens
to
the
Louvre
.
She
had
once
told
him
that
she
often
went
there
,
and
he
had
a
fancy
to
spend
the
intervening
time
in
a
place
where
he
could
think
of
her
as
perhaps
having
lately
been
.
For
an
hour
or
more
he
wandered
from
gallery
to
gallery
through
the
dazzle
of
afternoon
light
,
and
one
by
one
the
pictures
burst
on
him
in
their
half-forgotten
splendour
,
filling
his
soul
with
the
long
echoes
of
beauty
.
After
all
,
his
life
had
been
too
starved
...
Suddenly
,
before
an
effulgent
Titian
,
he
found
himself
saying
:
"
But
I
'm
only
fifty-seven
--
"
and
then
he
turned
away
.
For
such
summer
dreams
it
was
too
late
;
but
surely
not
for
a
quiet
harvest
of
friendship
,
of
comradeship
,
in
the
blessed
hush
of
her
nearness.He
went
back
to
the
hotel
,
where
he
and
Dallas
were
to
meet
;
and
together
they
walked
again
across
the
Place
de
la
Concorde
and
over
the
bridge
that
leads
to
the
Chamber
of
Deputies.Dallas
,
unconscious
of
what
was
going
on
in
his
father
's
mind
,
was
talking
excitedly
and
abundantly
of
Versailles
.
He
had
had
but
one
previous
glimpse
of
it
,
during
a
holiday
trip
in
which
he
had
tried
to
pack
all
the
sights
he
had
been
deprived
of
when
he
had
had
to
go
with
the
family
to
Switzerland
;
and
tumultuous
enthusiasm
and
cock-sure
criticism
tripped
each
other
up
on
his
lips.As
Archer
listened
,
his
sense
of
inadequacy
and
inexpressiveness
increased
.
The
boy
was
not
insensitive
,
he
knew
;
but
he
had
the
facility
and
self-confidence
that
came
of
looking
at
fate
not
as
a
master
but
as
an
equal
.
"
That
's
it
:
they
feel
equal
to
things
--
they
know
their
way
about
,
"
he
mused
,
thinking
of
his
son
as
the
spokesman
of
the
new
generation
which
had
swept
away
all
the
old
landmarks
,
and
with
them
the
sign-posts
and
the
danger-signal
.
Suddenly
Dallas
stopped
short
,
grasping
his
father
's
arm
.
"
Oh
,
by
Jove
,
"
he
exclaimed.They
had
come
out
into
the
great
tree-planted
space
before
the
Invalides
.
The
dome
of
Mansart
floated
ethereally
above
the
budding
trees
and
the
long
grey
front
of
the
building
:
drawing
up
into
itself
all
the
rays
of
afternoon
light
,
it
hung
there
like
the
visible
symbol
of
the
race
's
glory.Archer
knew
that
Madame
Olenska
lived
in
a
square
near
one
of
the
avenues
radiating
from
the
Invalides
;
and
he
had
pictured
the
quarter
as
quiet
and
almost
obscure
,
forgetting
the
central
splendour
that
lit
it
up
.
Now
,
by
some
queer
process
of
association
,
that
golden
light
became
for
him
the
pervading
illumination
in
which
she
lived
.
For
nearly
thirty
years
,
her
life
--
of
which
he
knew
so
strangely
little
--
had
been
spent
in
this
rich
atmosphere
that
he
already
felt
to
be
too
dense
and
yet
too
stimulating
for
his
lungs
.
He
thought
of
the
theatres
she
must
have
been
to
,
the
pictures
she
must
have
looked
at
,
the
sober
and
splendid
old
houses
she
must
have
frequented
,
the
people
she
must
have
talked
with
,
the
incessant
stir
of
ideas
,
curiosities
,
images
and
associations
thrown
out
by
an
intensely
social
race
in
a
setting
of
immemorial
manners
;
and
suddenly
he
remembered
the
young
Frenchman
who
had
once
said
to
him
:
"
Ah
,
good
conversation
--
there
is
nothing
like
it
,
is
there
?
"
Archer
had
not
seen
M.
Riviere
,
or
heard
of
him
,
for
nearly
thirty
years
;
and
that
fact
gave
the
measure
of
his
ignorance
of
Madame
Olenska
's
existence
.
More
than
half
a
lifetime
divided
them
,
and
she
had
spent
the
long
interval
among
people
he
did
not
know
,
in
a
society
he
but
faintly
guessed
at
,
in
conditions
he
would
never
wholly
understand
.
During
that
time
he
had
been
living
with
his
youthful
memory
of
her
;
but
she
had
doubtless
had
other
and
more
tangible
companionship
.
Perhaps
she
too
had
kept
her
memory
of
him
as
something
apart
;
but
if
she
had
,
it
must
have
been
like
a
relic
in
a
small
dim
chapel
,
where
there
was
not
time
to
pray
every
day
...
They
had
crossed
the
Place
des
Invalides
,
and
were
walking
down
one
of
the
thoroughfares
flanking
the
building
.
It
was
a
quiet
quarter
,
after
all
,
in
spite
of
its
splendour
and
its
history
;
and
the
fact
gave
one
an
idea
of
the
riches
Paris
had
to
draw
on
,
since
such
scenes
as
this
were
left
to
the
few
and
the
indifferent.The
day
was
fading
into
a
soft
sun-shot
haze
,
pricked
here
and
there
by
a
yellow
electric
light
,
and
passers
were
rare
in
the
little
square
into
which
they
had
turned
.
Dallas
stopped
again
,
and
looked
up
.
"
It
must
be
here
,
"
he
said
,
slipping
his
arm
through
his
father
's
with
a
movement
from
which
Archer
's
shyness
did
not
shrink
;
and
they
stood
together
looking
up
at
the
house.It
was
a
modern
building
,
without
distinctive
character
,
but
many-windowed
,
and
pleasantly
balconied
up
its
wide
cream-coloured
front
.
On
one
of
the
upper
balconies
,
which
hung
well
above
the
rounded
tops
of
the
horse-chestnuts
in
the
square
,
the
awnings
were
still
lowered
,
as
though
the
sun
had
just
left
it
.
"
I
wonder
which
floor
--
?
"
Dallas
conjectured
;
and
moving
toward
the
porte-cochere
he
put
his
head
into
the
porter
's
lodge
,
and
came
back
to
say
:
"
The
fifth
.
It
must
be
the
one
with
the
awnings
.
"
Archer
remained
motionless
,
gazing
at
the
upper
windows
as
if
the
end
of
their
pilgrimage
had
been
attained
.
"
I
say
,
you
know
,
it
's
nearly
six
,
"
his
son
at
length
reminded
him.The
father
glanced
away
at
an
empty
bench
under
the
trees
.
"
I
believe
I
'll
sit
there
a
moment
,
"
he
said
.
"
Why
--
are
n't
you
well
?
"
his
son
exclaimed
.
"
Oh
,
perfectly
.
But
I
should
like
you
,
please
,
to
go
up
without
me
.
"
Dallas
paused
before
him
,
visibly
bewildered
.
"
But
,
I
say
,
Dad
:
do
you
mean
you
wo
n't
come
up
at
all
?
"
"
I
do
n't
know
,
"
said
Archer
slowly
.
"
If
you
do
n't
she
wo
n't
understand
.
"
"
Go
,
my
boy
;
perhaps
I
shall
follow
you
.
"
Dallas
gave
him
a
long
look
through
the
twilight
.
"
But
what
on
earth
shall
I
say
?
"
"
My
dear
fellow
,
do
n't
you
always
know
what
to
say
?
"
his
father
rejoined
with
a
smile
.
"
Very
well
.
I
shall
say
you
're
old-fashioned
,
and
prefer
walking
up
the
five
flights
because
you
do
n't
like
lifts
.
"
His
father
smiled
again
.
"
Say
I
'm
old-fashioned
:
that
's
enough
.
"
Dallas
looked
at
him
again
,
and
then
,
with
an
incredulous
gesture
,
passed
out
of
sight
under
the
vaulted
doorway.Archer
sat
down
on
the
bench
and
continued
to
gaze
at
the
awninged
balcony
He
calculated
the
time
it
would
take
his
son
to
be
carried
up
in
the
lift
to
the
fifth
floor
,
to
ring
the
bell
,
and
be
admitted
to
the
hall
,
and
then
ushered
into
the
drawing-room
.
He
pictured
Dallas
entering
that
room
with
his
quick
assured
step
and
his
delightful
smile
,
and
wondered
if
the
people
were
right
who
said
that
his
boy
"
took
after
him
.
"
Then
he
tried
to
see
the
persons
already
in
the
room
--
for
probably
at
that
sociable
hour
there
would
be
more
than
one
--
and
among
them
a
dark
lady
,
pale
and
dark
,
who
would
look
up
quickly
,
half
rise
,
and
hold
out
a
long
thin
hand
with
three
rings
on
it
...
He
thought
she
would
be
sitting
in
a
sofa-corner
near
the
fire
,
with
azaleas
banked
behind
her
on
a
table
.
"
It
's
more
real
to
me
here
than
if
I
went
up
,
"
he
suddenly
heard
himself
say
;
and
the
fear
lest
that
last
shadow
of
reality
should
lose
its
edge
kept
him
rooted
to
his
seat
as
the
minutes
succeeded
each
other.He
sat
for
a
long
time
on
the
bench
in
the
thickening
dusk
,
his
eyes
never
turning
from
the
balcony
.
At
length
a
light
shone
through
the
windows
,
and
a
moment
later
a
man-servant
came
out
on
the
balcony
,
drew
up
the
awnings
,
and
closed
the
shutters.At
that
,
as
if
it
had
been
the
signal
he
waited
for
,
Newland
Archer
got
up
slowly
and
walked
back
alone
to
his
hotel
.