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The
lady
who
was
to
represent
,
in
the
impending
struggle
,
the
forces
of
order
and
tradition
was
seated
by
the
fire
when
Darrow
entered
.
Among
the
flowers
and
old
furniture
of
the
large
pale
-
panelled
room
,
Madame
de
Chantelle
had
the
inanimate
elegance
of
a
figure
introduced
into
a
“
still
-
life
”
to
give
the
scale
.
And
this
,
Darrow
reflected
,
was
exactly
what
she
doubtless
regarded
as
her
chief
obligation
:
he
was
sure
she
thought
a
great
deal
of
“
measure
”
,
and
approved
of
most
things
only
up
to
a
certain
point
.
She
was
a
woman
of
sixty
,
with
a
figure
at
once
young
and
old
-
fashioned
.
Her
fair
faded
tints
,
her
quaint
corseting
,
the
passementerie
on
her
tight
-
waisted
dress
,
the
velvet
band
on
her
tapering
arm
,
made
her
resemble
a
“
carte
de
visite
”
photograph
of
the
middle
’
sixties
.
One
saw
her
,
younger
but
no
less
invincibly
lady
-
like
,
leaning
on
a
chair
with
a
fringed
back
,
a
curl
in
her
neck
,
a
locket
on
her
tuckered
bosom
,
toward
the
end
of
an
embossed
morocco
album
beginning
with
The
Beauties
of
the
Second
Empire
.
She
received
her
daughter
-
in
-
law
’
s
suitor
with
an
affability
which
implied
her
knowledge
and
approval
of
his
suit
.
Darrow
had
already
guessed
her
to
be
a
person
who
would
instinctively
oppose
any
suggested
changes
,
and
then
,
after
one
had
exhausted
one
’
s
main
arguments
,
unexpectedly
yield
to
some
small
incidental
reason
,
and
adhere
doggedly
to
her
new
position
.
She
boasted
of
her
old
-
fashioned
prejudices
,
talked
a
good
deal
of
being
a
grandmother
,
and
made
a
show
of
reaching
up
to
tap
Owen
’
s
shoulder
,
though
his
height
was
little
more
than
hers
.
She
was
full
of
a
small
pale
prattle
about
the
people
she
had
seen
at
Ouchy
,
as
to
whom
she
had
the
minute
statistical
information
of
a
gazetteer
,
without
any
apparent
sense
of
personal
differences
.
She
said
to
Darrow
:
“
They
tell
me
things
are
very
much
changed
in
America
.
.
.
.
Of
course
in
my
youth
there
was
a
Society
”
.
.
.
She
had
no
desire
to
return
there
she
was
sure
the
standards
must
be
so
different
.
“
There
are
charming
people
everywhere
.
.
.
and
one
must
always
look
on
the
best
side
.
.
.
but
when
one
has
lived
among
Traditions
it
’
s
difficult
to
adapt
one
’
s
self
to
the
new
ideas
.
.
.
.
These
dreadful
views
of
marriage
.
.
.
it
’
s
so
hard
to
explain
them
to
my
French
relations
.
.
.
.
I
’
m
thankful
to
say
I
don
’
t
pretend
to
understand
them
myself
!
But
you
’
re
an
Everard
—
I
told
Anna
last
spring
in
London
that
one
sees
that
instantly
”
.
.
.
She
wandered
off
to
the
cooking
and
the
service
of
the
hotel
at
Ouchy
.
She
attached
great
importance
to
gastronomic
details
and
to
the
manners
of
hotel
servants
.
There
,
too
,
there
was
a
falling
off
,
she
said
.
“
I
don
t
know
,
of
course
;
but
people
say
it
’
s
owing
to
the
Americans
.
Certainly
my
waiter
had
a
way
of
slapping
down
the
dishes
.
.
.
they
tell
me
that
many
of
them
are
Anarchists
.
.
.
belong
to
Unions
,
you
know
.
”
She
appealed
to
Darrow
’
s
reported
knowledge
of
economic
conditions
to
confirm
this
ominous
rumour
.
After
dinner
Owen
Leath
wandered
into
the
next
room
,
where
the
piano
stood
,
and
began
to
play
among
the
shadows
.
His
step
-
mother
presently
joined
him
,
and
Darrow
sat
alone
with
Madame
de
Chantelle
.
She
took
up
the
thread
of
her
mild
chat
and
carried
it
on
at
the
same
pace
as
her
knitting
.
Her
conversation
resembled
the
large
loose
-
stranded
web
between
her
fingers
:
now
and
then
she
dropped
a
stitch
,
and
went
on
regardless
of
the
gap
in
the
pattern
.
Darrow
listened
with
a
lazy
sense
of
well
-
being
.
In
the
mental
lull
of
the
after
-
dinner
hour
,
with
harmonious
memories
murmuring
through
his
mind
,
and
the
soft
tints
and
shadowy
spaces
of
the
fine
old
room
charming
his
eyes
to
indolence
,
Madame
de
Chantelle
’
s
discourse
seemed
not
out
of
place
.
He
could
understand
that
,
in
the
long
run
,
the
atmosphere
of
Givre
might
be
suffocating
;
but
in
his
present
mood
its
very
limitations
had
a
grace
.
Presently
he
found
the
chance
to
say
a
word
in
his
own
behalf
;
and
thereupon
measured
the
advantage
,
never
before
particularly
apparent
to
him
,
of
being
related
to
the
Everards
of
Albany
.
Madame
de
Chantelle
’
s
conception
of
her
native
country
—
to
which
she
had
not
returned
since
her
twentieth
year
—
reminded
him
of
an
ancient
geographer
’
s
map
of
the
Hyperborean
regions
.
It
was
all
a
foggy
blank
,
from
which
only
one
or
two
fixed
outlines
emerged
;
and
one
of
these
belonged
to
the
Everards
of
Albany
.
