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France
was
not
known
for
its
chess
,
but
the
room
they
played
in
was
beautiful
.
Two
crystal
chandeliers
hung
from
its
high
blue
ceiling
,
and
the
blue
flowered
carpet
on
the
floor
was
thick
and
rich
.
There
were
three
tables
of
polished
walnut
,
each
with
a
pink
carnation
in
a
small
vase
at
the
side
of
the
board
.
The
antique
chairs
were
upholstered
in
blue
velvet
that
matched
the
floor
and
ceiling
.
It
was
like
an
expensive
restaurant
,
and
the
tournament
directors
were
like
well
-
trained
waiters
in
tuxedos
.
Everything
was
quiet
and
smooth
.
She
had
flown
in
from
New
York
the
night
before
,
had
seen
almost
nothing
yet
of
Paris
,
but
she
felt
at
ease
here
.
She
had
slept
well
on
the
plane
and
then
slept
again
in
her
hotel
;
before
that
she
had
put
in
five
solid
weeks
of
practice
.
She
had
never
felt
more
prepared
.
The
Dutchman
played
the
Réti
Opening
,
and
she
treated
it
the
way
she
did
when
Benny
played
it
,
getting
equality
by
the
ninth
move
.
She
began
attacking
before
he
had
a
chance
to
castle
,
at
first
with
a
bishop
sacrifice
and
then
by
forcing
him
to
give
up
a
knight
and
two
pawns
to
defend
his
king
.
By
the
sixteenth
move
she
was
threatening
combinations
all
over
the
board
and
although
she
was
never
able
to
bring
one
off
,
the
threat
was
enough
.
He
was
forced
to
yield
to
her
a
bit
at
a
time
until
,
bottled
up
and
irrecoverably
behind
,
he
gave
up
.
She
was
walking
happily
along
the
Rue
de
Rivoli
by
noon
,
enjoying
the
sunshine
.
She
looked
at
blouses
and
shoes
in
the
shop
windows
,
and
while
she
bought
nothing
,
it
was
a
pleasure
.
Paris
was
a
bit
like
New
York
but
more
civilized
.
The
streets
were
clean
and
the
shop
windows
bright
;
there
were
real
sidewalk
cafes
and
people
sitting
in
them
enjoying
themselves
,
talking
in
French
.
She
had
been
so
wrapped
up
in
chess
that
only
now
did
she
realize
:
she
was
actually
in
Paris
!
This
was
Paris
,
this
avenue
she
was
walking
on
;
those
beautifully
dressed
women
walking
toward
her
were
Frenchwomen
,
Parisiennes
,
and
she
herself
was
eighteen
years
old
and
the
United
States
Champion
at
chess
.
She
felt
for
a
moment
a
joyful
pressure
in
her
chest
and
slowed
her
walking
.
Two
men
were
passing
her
,
heads
bent
in
conversation
,
and
she
heard
one
saying
“
…
avec
deux
parties
seulement
.
”
Frenchmen
,
and
she
understood
the
words
!
She
stopped
walking
and
stood
where
she
was
for
a
moment
,
taking
in
the
fine
gray
buildings
across
the
avenue
,
the
light
on
the
trees
,
the
odd
smells
of
this
humane
city
.
She
might
have
an
apartment
here
someday
,
on
the
Boulevard
Raspail
or
the
Rue
des
Capucines
.
By
the
time
she
was
in
her
twenties
she
could
be
World
’
s
Champion
and
live
wherever
she
wanted
to
live
.
She
could
have
a
pied
à
terre
in
Paris
and
go
to
concerts
and
plays
,
eat
lunch
every
day
in
a
different
café
,
and
dress
like
these
women
who
walked
by
her
,
so
sure
of
themselves
,
so
smart
in
their
well
-
made
clothes
,
with
their
heads
high
and
their
hair
impeccably
cut
and
combed
and
shaped
.
She
had
something
that
none
of
them
had
,
and
it
could
give
her
a
life
that
anyone
might
envy
.
Benny
had
been
right
to
urge
her
to
play
here
and
then
,
next
summer
,
in
Moscow
.
There
was
nothing
to
hold
her
in
Kentucky
,
in
her
house
;
she
had
possibilities
that
were
endless
.
She
wandered
the
boulevards
for
hours
,
not
stopping
to
buy
anything
,
just
looking
at
people
and
buildings
and
shops
and
restaurants
and
trees
and
flowers
.
Once
she
accidentally
bumped
into
an
old
lady
while
crossing
the
Rue
de
la
Paix
and
found
herself
saying
,
“
Excusez
-
moi
,
madame
”
as
easily
as
if
she
had
been
speaking
French
all
her
life
.
There
was
to
be
a
reception
at
the
building
the
tournament
was
in
at
four
-
thirty
;
she
had
difficulty
finding
her
way
back
and
was
ten
minutes
late
and
out
of
breath
when
she
arrived
.
The
playing
tables
had
all
been
pushed
to
one
side
of
the
room
,
and
the
chairs
placed
around
the
walls
.
She
was
ushered
to
a
seat
near
the
door
and
handed
a
small
cup
of
café
filtre
.
A
pastry
cart
was
wheeled
by
with
the
most
beautiful
pastries
she
had
ever
seen
.
She
felt
a
momentary
sadness
,
wishing
that
Alma
Wheatley
could
be
there
to
see
them
.
Just
as
she
was
taking
a
napoleon
from
the
cart
she
heard
loud
laughter
from
across
the
room
and
looked
up
.
There
was
Vasily
Borgov
,
holding
a
coffee
cup
.
The
people
on
each
side
of
him
were
bent
toward
him
expectantly
,
taking
in
his
amusement
.
His
face
was
distorted
with
ponderous
mirth
.
Beth
felt
her
stomach
turn
to
ice
.
She
walked
back
to
her
hotel
that
evening
and
grimly
played
a
dozen
of
Borgov
’
s
games
—
games
that
she
already
knew
thoroughly
from
studying
them
with
Benny
—
and
went
to
bed
at
eleven
;
she
took
no
pills
and
slept
beautifully
.
Borgov
had
been
an
International
Grandmaster
for
eleven
years
and
World
Champion
for
five
,
but
she
would
not
go
passive
against
him
this
time
.
Whatever
happened
she
would
not
be
humiliated
by
him
.
And
she
would
have
one
distinct
advantage
:
he
would
not
be
as
prepared
for
her
as
she
was
for
him
.
*
*
*
She
went
on
winning
,
beating
a
Frenchman
the
next
day
and
an
Englishman
on
the
day
after
.
Borgov
won
his
games
also
.
On
the
next
to
the
last
day
when
she
was
playing
another
Dutchman
—
an
older
and
more
experienced
one
—
she
found
herself
at
the
table
next
to
Borgov
.
Seeing
him
so
close
distracted
her
for
a
few
moments
,
but
she
was
able
to
shrug
it
off
.
The
Dutchman
was
a
strong
player
,
and
she
concentrated
on
the
game
.
