Page 426 - swanns-way

was to be read within that window, streaked with bars of
light, as within the illuminated, golden boards of one of
those precious manuscripts, by whose wealth of artistic
treasures the scholar who consults them cannot remain un-
moved. He yearned for the satisfaction of knowing the truth
which so impassioned him in that brief, fleeting, precious
transcript, on that translucent page, so warm, so beautiful.
And besides, the advantage which he felt—which he so des-
perately wanted to feel—that he had over them, lay perhaps
not so much in knowing as in being able to shew them that
he knew. He drew himself up on tiptoe. He knocked. They
had not heard; he knocked again; louder; their conversation
ceased. A man’s voice—he strained his ears to distinguish
whose, among such of Odette’s friends as he knew, the voice
could be—asked:
‘Who’s that?’
He could not be certain of the voice. He knocked once
again. The window first, then the shutters were thrown open.
It was too late, now, to retire, and since she must know all,
so as not to seem too contemptible, too jealous and inquisi-
tive, he called out in a careless, hearty, welcoming tone:
‘Please don’t bother; I just happened to be passing, and
saw the light. I wanted to know if you were feeling better.’
He looked up. Two old gentlemen stood facing him, in
the window, one of them with a lamp in his hand; and be-
yond them he could see into the room, a room that he had
never seen before. Having fallen into the habit, When he
came late to Odette, of identifying her window by the fact
that it was the only one still lighted in a row of windows

426 Swann’s Way