Montalais.

And then (Duchemin had a faint smile of appreciation for a mental
parallel to the technique of the cinema) a singularly vivid and
disturbing memory of her face of loveliness, exquisitely tender and
compassionate, bended so near to his, faded away into a dense blank of
sleep ...

Somewhat to his surprise he found the watch on his wrist ticking away
as callously as though its owner had not experienced a prolonged lapse
of consciousness. It told him that Eve would leave the château within
another hour.

He got up hastily, grunting a bit--though his headache was no longer so
acute; or else he was growing accustomed to it--and ringing for the
valet-de-chambre ordered his petit déjeuner. Before this was served he
spent several thrilling minutes under an icy shower and emerged feeling
more on terms with himself and the world.

The valet-de-chambre brought with his tray the announcement that Madame
de Montalais presented her compliments and would be glad to see
monsieur at his convenience in the grand salon. So Duchemin made short
work of his dressing, his café-au-lait and half a roll, and hurried
down to the drawing-room.

Seated in an easy chair, in the tempered light of an awninged window
which stood open on the terrasse, nothing in her pose--she was waiting
quietly, hands folded in her lap--and nothing in her countenance, in
the un-lined brow, the grave, serene eyes, lent any colour to his
apprehensions. And yet in his heart he had known that he would find her