The House of the Combrays

One evening in the winter of 1868 or 1869, my father-in-law, Moisson, with whom I was chatting after dinner, took up a book that was lying on the table, open at the page where I had stopped reading, and said: "Ah! you are reading Mme. de la Chanterie?" "Yes," I replied. "A fine book; do you know it?" "Of course! I even know the heroine." "Mme. de la Chanterie!"