‘But the fits of ferocity!’

’They are inconscient, real fits.  They come of a hot nerve.  He is manageable, sober too, when his mind is charged.  As to the French people, they are the most mixed of any European nation; so they are packed with contrasts:  they are full of sentiment, they are sharply logical; free-thinkers, devotees; affectionate, ferocious; frivolous, tenacious; the passion of the season operating like sun or moon on these qualities; and they can reach to ideality out of sensualism.  Below your level, they’re above it:  a paradox is at home with them!’

‘My friend, you speak seriously—­an unusual compliment,’ Nataly said, and ungratefully continued:  ’You know what is occupying me.  I want your opinion.  I guess it.  I want to hear—­a mean thirst perhaps, and you would pay me any number of compliments to avoid the subject; but let me hear:—­this house!’

Colney shrugged in resignation.  ‘Victor works himself out,’ he replied.

‘We are to go through it all again?’

‘If you have not the force to contain him.’

‘How contain him?’

Up went Colney’s shoulders.

‘You may see it all before you,’ he said, ’straight as the Seine chaussee from the hill of La Roche Guyon.’

He looked for her recollection of the scene.

‘Ah, the happy ramble that year!’ she cried.  ’And my Nesta just seven.  We had been six months at Craye.  Every day of our life together looks happy to me, looking back, though I know that every day had the same troubles.  I don’t think I’m deficient in courage; I think I could meet ....  But the false position so cruelly weakens me.  I am no woman’s equal when I have to receive or visit.  It seems easier to meet the worst in life-danger, death, anything.  Pardon me for talking so.  Perhaps we need not have left Craye or Creckholt . . . ?’ she hinted an interrogation.  ’Though I am not sorry; it is not good to be where one tastes poison.  Here it may be as deadly, worse.  Dear friend, I am so glad you remember La Roche Guyon.  He was popular with the dear French people.’

‘In spite of his accent.’

‘It is not so bad?’

‘And that you’ll defend!’

‘Consider:  these neighbours we come among; they may have heard . . .’

‘Act on the assumption.’

’You forget the principal character.  Victor promises; he may have learnt a lesson at Creckholt.  But look at this house he has built.  How can I—­any woman—­contain him!  He must have society.’

‘Paraitre!’

‘He must be in the front.  He has talked of Parliament.’

Colney’s liver took the thrust of a skewer through it.  He spoke as in meditative encomium:  ’His entry into Parliament would promote himself and family to a station of eminence naked over the Clock Tower of the House.’