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From
the
escutcheoned
piers
at
the
entrance
of
the
court
a
level
drive
,
also
shaded
by
limes
,
extended
to
a
white
-
barred
gate
beyond
which
an
equally
level
avenue
of
grass
,
cut
through
a
wood
,
dwindled
to
a
blue
-
green
blur
against
a
sky
banked
with
still
white
slopes
of
cloud
.
In
the
court
,
half
-
way
between
house
and
drive
,
a
lady
stood
.
She
held
a
parasol
above
her
head
,
and
looked
now
at
the
house
-
front
,
with
its
double
flight
of
steps
meeting
before
a
glazed
door
under
sculptured
trophies
,
now
down
the
drive
toward
the
grassy
cutting
through
the
wood
.
Her
air
was
less
of
expectancy
than
of
contemplation
:
she
seemed
not
so
much
to
be
watching
for
any
one
,
or
listening
for
an
approaching
sound
,
as
letting
the
whole
aspect
of
the
place
sink
into
her
while
she
held
herself
open
to
its
influence
.
Yet
it
was
no
less
apparent
that
the
scene
was
not
new
to
her
.
There
was
no
eagerness
of
investigation
in
her
survey
:
she
seemed
rather
to
be
looking
about
her
with
eyes
to
which
,
for
some
intimate
inward
reason
,
details
long
since
familiar
had
suddenly
acquired
an
unwonted
freshness
.
This
was
in
fact
the
exact
sensation
of
which
Mrs
.
Leath
was
conscious
as
she
came
forth
from
the
house
and
descended
into
the
sunlit
court
.
She
had
come
to
meet
her
step
-
son
,
who
was
likely
to
be
returning
at
that
hour
from
an
afternoon
’
s
shooting
in
one
of
the
more
distant
plantations
,
and
she
carried
in
her
hand
the
letter
which
had
sent
her
in
search
of
him
;
but
with
her
first
step
out
of
the
house
all
thought
of
him
had
been
effaced
by
another
series
of
impressions
.
The
scene
about
her
was
known
to
satiety
.
She
had
seen
Givre
at
all
seasons
of
the
year
,
and
for
the
greater
part
of
every
year
,
since
the
far
-
off
day
of
her
marriage
;
the
day
when
,
ostensibly
driving
through
its
gates
at
her
husband
’
s
side
,
she
had
actually
been
carried
there
on
a
cloud
of
iris
-
winged
visions
.
The
possibilities
which
the
place
had
then
represented
were
still
vividly
present
to
her
.
The
mere
phrase
“
a
French
chateau
”
had
called
up
to
her
youthful
fancy
a
throng
of
romantic
associations
,
poetic
,
pictorial
and
emotional
;
and
the
serene
face
of
the
old
house
seated
in
its
park
among
the
poplar
-
bordered
meadows
of
middle
France
,
had
seemed
,
on
her
first
sight
of
it
,
to
hold
out
to
her
a
fate
as
noble
and
dignified
as
its
own
mien
.
Though
she
could
still
call
up
that
phase
of
feeling
it
had
long
since
passed
,
and
the
house
had
for
a
time
become
to
her
the
very
symbol
of
narrowness
and
monotony
.
Then
,
with
the
passing
of
years
,
it
had
gradually
acquired
a
less
inimical
character
,
had
become
,
not
again
a
castle
of
dreams
,
evoker
of
fair
images
and
romantic
legend
,
but
the
shell
of
a
life
slowly
adjusted
to
its
dwelling
:
the
place
one
came
back
to
,
the
place
where
one
had
one
’
s
duties
,
one
’
s
habits
and
one
’
s
books
,
the
place
one
would
naturally
live
in
till
one
died
:
a
dull
house
,
an
inconvenient
house
,
of
which
one
knew
all
the
defects
,
the
shabbinesses
,
the
discomforts
,
but
to
which
one
was
so
used
that
one
could
hardly
,
after
so
long
a
time
,
think
one
’
s
self
away
from
it
without
suffering
a
certain
loss
of
identity
.
Now
,
as
it
lay
before
her
in
the
autumn
mildness
,
its
mistress
was
surprised
at
her
own
insensibility
.
She
had
been
trying
to
see
the
house
through
the
eyes
of
an
old
friend
who
,
the
next
morning
,
would
be
driving
up
to
it
for
the
first
time
;
and
in
so
doing
she
seemed
to
be
opening
her
own
eyes
upon
it
after
a
long
interval
of
blindness
.
The
court
was
very
still
,
yet
full
of
a
latent
life
:
the
wheeling
and
rustling
of
pigeons
about
the
rectangular
yews
and
across
the
sunny
gravel
;
the
sweep
of
rooks
above
the
lustrous
greyish
-
purple
slates
of
the
roof
,
and
the
stir
of
the
tree
-
tops
as
they
met
the
breeze
which
every
day
,
at
that
hour
,
came
punctually
up
from
the
river
.
