ButthedogBalthasarwentontowardsthevisitor，whoputherhanddownandstrokedhishead。OldJolyonsaidquickly：”Isawyouattheoperatheothernight；youdidn’tnoticeme。””Oh，yes！Idid。”
Hefeltasubtleflatteryinthat，asthoughshehadadded：’Doyouthinkonecouldmissseeingyou?’”They’reallinSpain，”heremarkedabruptly。”I’malone；Idroveupfortheopera。TheRavogli’sgood。Haveyouseenthecow-
houses?”
Inasituationsochargedwithmysteryandsomethingverylikeemotionhemovedinstinctivelytowardsthatbitofproperty，andshemovedbesidehim。Herfigureswayedfaintly，likethebestkindofFrenchfigures；herdress，too，wasasortofFrenchgrey。
Henoticedtwoorthreesilverthreadsinheramber-colouredhair，strangehairwiththosedarkeyesofhers，andthatcreamy-paleface。Asuddensidelonglookfromthevelvetybrowneyesdisturbedhim。Itseemedtocomefromdeepandfar，fromanotherworldalmost，oratalleventsfromsomeonenotlivingverymuchinthis。Andhesaidmechanically”Whereareyoulivingnow?””IhavealittleflatinChelsea。”