He had the same impressions, and he had but one passion in his
life, a distant worship of my sister that burned steadily even
here at the end of life. During the few evenings that Madame
Barras had been in to dinner with us, he sat in his chair beyond
my sister in the drawing-room, perfect in his early-Victorian
manner, while Madame Barras and I walked on the great terrace, or
sat outside.
One had a magnificent sweep of the world, at night, from that
terrace. It looked out over the forest of pines to the open sea.
Madame Barras confessed to the pull of this vista. She asked me
at what direction the Atlantic entered, and when she knew, she
kept it always in her sight.
It had a persisting fascination for her. At all times and in
nearly any position, she was somehow sensible of this vista; she
knew the lights almost immediately, and the common small craft
blinking about. To-night she had sat for a long time in nearly
utter silence here. There was a faint light on the open sea as
she got up to take her leave of us; what would it be she
wondered.
I replied that it was some small craft coming in.
"A fishing-boat?"
"Hardly that," I said, "from its lights and position it will be
some swifter power-boat and, I should say, not precisely certain
about the channel.
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