He could not have described the mansions in the skies, but, thanks to Jacqueline, he knew every room at Fontenoy.

Before he was laid in it, he had known the blue room, the roses on the curtains, and the peacock-feathered mandarin forever climbing a dull yellow screen.

The library should be below, with the bookshelves, and the glass door opening on the snowball bushes.
Outside his window was the flower garden.

He had seen the garden with his bodily eyes, for there was the morning he had spent at Fontenoy.

In the desert of his hardly-treated, eager, and longing youth the place and the life of which the girl who came to Mrs.Selden's had told him was become the vision of an oasis and a paradise.