The three stood watching while the candles sprang into little spears of light under the touch of the taper, Madame Lafarge contrasting displeasedly the lemon sallowness of her daughter's complexion with the warm magnolia-like pallor of the secretary's face. The contrast caused her to speak sharply,—
'Julie, you had better go now and take off your hat.'
When her submissive daughter had gone, she said,—
'Julie is looking ill. The summer does not suit her. But what is to be done? I cannot leave Herakleion.'
'Obviously,' murmured the secretary, 'Herakleion would fall all to pieces. Your Sunday evenings,' he continued, 'the races ... your picnics....'
'Impossible,' she cried with determination. 'One owes a duty to the country one represents, and I have always said that, whereas politics are the affairs of men, the woman's social obligation is no less urgent. It is a great career, Armand, and to such a career one must be prepared to sacrifice one's personal convenience.'
'And one's health ... the health of one's children,' he added, looking down at his almond nails.
'If need be,' she replied with a sigh, and, fanning herself, repeated, 'If need be.'
The rooms began to fill. A little middle-aged Greek, his wrinkled saffron face curiously emphasised by the beautiful whiteness of his hair and moustaches, took his stand near Madame Lafarge, who in speaking to him looked down on the top of his head over the broad plateau of her bust.