He led the French Duke upstairs, talking trivialties in a hearty way,
and there presented him to another and more important English oligarch,
who got up from a writing-desk with a slightly senile jerk.
He had a gleaming bald head and glasses; the lower part of his
face was masked with a short, dark beard, which did not conceal
a beaming smile, not unmixed with sharpness. He stooped
a little as he ran, like some sedentary head clerk or cashier;
and even without the cheque-book and papers on his desk would
have given the impression of a merchant or man of business.
He was dressed in a light grey check jacket. He was the Duke
of Windsor, the great Unionist statesman. Between these two loose,
amiable men, the little Gaul stood erect in his black frock coat,
with the monstrous gravity of French ceremonial good manners.
This stiffness led the Duke of Windsor to put him at his ease
(like a tenant), and he said, rubbing his hands:
"I was delighted with your letter ... delighted. I shall be very
pleased if I can give you--er--any details."
"My visit," said the Frenchman, "scarcely suffices for
the scientific exhaustion of detail. I seek only the idea.
The idea, that is always the immediate thing."
"Quite so," said the other rapidly; "quite so ... the idea."
Feeling somehow that it was his turn (the English Duke having done all
that could be required of him) Pommard had to say: "I mean the idea
of aristocracy.
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