"From Duras."
She reflected a moment.
"Duras! There is a little river there, the Dropt, and a fine old château."
"You know Duras?" I murmured, amazed.
"You go there from Bordeaux by a little branch railway," she went on. "It is a shut-in road, with vine-covered hills
crowned by the feudal ruins. The villages have beautiful names: Monségur, Sauve-terre-de-Guyenne, la Tresne, Créon, ... Créon, as in Antigone."
"You have been there?"
She looked at me.
"Don't speak so coldly," she said. "Sooner or later we will be intimate, and you may as well lay aside formality now."
This threatening promise suddenly filled me with great happiness. I thought of Le Mesge's words: "Don't talk until you have seen her. When you have seen her, you will renounce everything for her."