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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Yes, and I might have discovered a black silk stock. I wonder how I should have looked in it. Doris," I said, "we have missed the best part of our adventure. We forgot to dress for the part we are playing, the lovers of Orelay."
The transitional stage is an intolerable one, and I wondered if Doris felt it as keenly, and every time I passed our carriage on my way up and down in search of the guard, I stopped a moment to study her face; she sat with her eyes closed, perhaps dozing. How prosaic of her to doze on the way to Orelay! Why was she not as agitated as I?
But it was not his recommendation that influenced me, it was the name the Hotel des Valois. How splendid! And when we got out at Orelay I asked the porters and the station-master if they could recommend a hotel. No, but they agreed that the Hotel des Valois was as good as any other. We drove there wondering what it would be like.
The poor man left the room very much disconcerted, feeling, Doris said, as if he had lost one of the forks. "Thank Heaven that matter is done with a great weight is off my mind." "But there is the museum. You would like to see that?" said Doris, and a change came into my face. "Well, Doris, the waiter has told us that there is a celebrated study by David in the museum, 'The Nymph of Orelay."
No, she had not slept, only it rested her to keep her eyes closed, the sunlight fatigued her. I did not like to hear her talk of fatigue, and to hide from her what was passing in my mind I tried to invent some conversation. Orelay what a lovely name it was! Did she think the town would vindicate or belie its name?
"Going away by the train," Doris said regretfully. "Would we were going away in a carriage! We shall leave Orelay knowing nothing of it but this suite of apartments." "There is no reason why we should not drive," and I stopped packing my bag, and stood looking at her. "I wonder if we should have stayed three days if we had not discovered these rooms?
You may be Albert yourself every one has been or will be Albert; Albert is in us all, just as I am in you all. Doris, too, is in you, dear lady who sit reading my book Doris my three-days mistress at Orelay, and Doris the faithful spouse of Albert for twenty years in a lonely London suburb. Study and boudoir would like to know if Doris had any children.
We could not tear ourselves away, but fortunately the road turned; Orelay was blotted out from our sight for ever, and we sank back to remember that a certain portion of our lives was over and done, a beautiful part of our lives had been thrown into the void, into the great rubble-heap of emotions that had been lived through, that are no more. "Of what are you thinking, dear?
She smiled faintly and said she would not feel fatigued as soon as she got out of the train, and there was some consolation in the thought that her health would not allow her to get farther that day than Orelay. We decided to stay at the Hotel des Valois. One of the passengers had spoken to me of this hotel; he had never stayed there himself, but he believed it to be an excellent hotel.
If you have, you will excuse the little comedy and believe it to be natural the comedy that Doris and I played in the old carriage driving from Orelay to Verlancourt, where we hoped to breakfast. We could hardly speak for excitement. Doris thought of how she would look in a crinoline, and I remembered the illustrations in an early edition of Balzac of which I am the happy possessor.
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