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Updated: May 19, 2025
He left everything to Genevieve, and in case of her dying childless, I was to take control of the house in the Rue Sainte-Cecile, and Jack Scott the management at Ept. On our deaths the property reverted to his mother's family in Russia, with the exception of the sculptured marbles executed by himself. These he left to me. The page blurred under our eyes, and Jack got up and walked to the window.
We stayed in Paris together a week, and then I went for a week to Ept with him, but first of all we went to the cemetery at Sevres, where Boris lay. "Shall we place the 'Fates' in the little grove above him?" Jack asked, and I answered "I think only the 'Madonna' should watch over Boris' grave." But Jack was none the better for my home-coming.
I carried her to the divan, and went to look for him, but he was not in the house, and the servants were gone to bed. Perplexed and anxious, I hurried back to Genevieve. She lay where I had left her, looking very white. "I can't find Boris nor any of the servants," I said. "I know," she answered faintly, "Boris has gone to Ept with Mr. Scott. I did not remember when I sent you for him just now."
Where the placid little Ept flows down between its thickets to the Seine, a grassy bank shadows the haunt of the gudgeon, and on this bank sat Colette and Jacqueline and chattered and laughed and watched the swerving of the scarlet quills, while Hastings, his hat over his eyes, his head on a bank of moss, listened to their soft voices and gallantly unhooked the small and indignant gudgeon when a flash of a rod and a half-suppressed scream announced a catch.
But Cecile, doubtless fascinated by the gaudy flies in Clifford's book, decided to accept lessons from him in the true art, and presently disappeared up the Ept with Clifford in tow. Elliott looked doubtfully at Colette. "I prefer gudgeons," said that damsel with decision, "and you and Monsieur Rowden may go away when you please; may they not, Jacqueline?" "Certainly," responded Jacqueline.
Then, when they had established their camp in a grove of sycamores which bordered the little river Ept, Clifford, the acknowledged master of all that pertained to sportsmanship, took command. "You, Rowden," he said, "divide your flies with Elliott and keep an eye on him or else he'll be trying to put on a float and sinker. Prevent him by force from grubbing about for worms."
Next morning he left for Ept to fulfil his trust. The same evening I took the keys and went into the house I had known so well. Everything was in order, but the silence was terrible. Though I went twice to the door of the marble room, I could not force myself to enter. It was beyond my strength. I went into the smoking-room and sat down before the spinet.
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