Пробний камінь

           Glennard,underhiswife’scomposure,detectedasensibilitytothismanoeuvre,andthediscoverywaslikethelightning-flashacrossanocturnallandscape.Thusfarthesemomentaryilluminationshadservedonlytorevealthestrangenessoftheinterveningcountry:eachfreshobservationseemedtoincreasethesum-totalofhisignorance.Hersimplicityofoutlinewasmorepuzzlingthanacomplexsurface.Onemayconceivablyworkone’swaythroughalabyrinth;butAlexa’scandorwaslikeasnow-coveredplainwhere,theroadoncelost,therearenolandmarkstotravelby.

           Dinnerover,theyreturnedtotheveranda,whereamoon,risingbehindtheoldelm,wascombiningwiththatcomplaisanttreearomanticenlargementoftheirborders.Glennardhadforgottenthecigars.Hewenttohisstudytofetchthem,andinpassingthroughthedrawing-roomhesawthesecondvolumeofthe“Letters”lyingopenonhiswife’stable.Hepickedupthebookandlookedatthedateofthelettershehadbeenreading.Itwasoneofthelast...heknewthefewlinesbyheart.Hedroppedthebookandleanedagainstthewall.Whyhadheincludedthatoneamongtheothers?Orwasitpossiblethatnowtheywouldallseemlikethat...?

           Alexa’svoicecamesuddenlyoutofthedusk.“MayTouchettwasright—itislikelisteningatakey-hole.IwishIhadn’treadit!”

           Flamelreturned,intheleisurelytoneofthemanwhosephrasesarepunctuatedbyacigarette,“Itseemssotous,perhaps;buttoanothergenerationthebookwillbeaclassic.”

           “Thenitoughtnottohavebeenpublishedtillithadbecomeaclassic.