Declare

the focus of some terrible attention; afterward Elena
    had said, Once I would have prayed , and then had quoted a line of verse in English; and now the verse came back to him, and he recalled that it was from Francis Thompson’s “The Hound of Heaven.”
    “Across the margent of the world I fled,” he recited now, almost idly, since nothing he said could matter anymore here,
    And troubled the gold gateways of the stars ,
    Fretted to dulcet jars
    And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon…
    Elena frowned deeply, but nodded, and in a whisper recited the next line— “I said to Dawn: be sudden — to Eve: be soon…”
    “Finish your drink, young man,” said Cassagnac, briskly tapping ash from his cigarette, “the hour grows late, and—”
    A rich, plummy voice interrupted from behind Hale, in English: “Those sh- shoes I left out this afternoon weren’t c-c-cleaned,” said Kim Philby’s well-remembered voice, “and yet I find you here d- drinking , Andrew?”
    Hale was jolted by the bench being pulled out, and then Kim Philby had sat down heavily beside him, smelling of tobacco and whiskey and some British after-shave lotion, and crinkling his eyes and showing his teeth in a smile.
    Philby’s gaze fell on the mug of pink beer. “And what are you d-drinking, Andrew?” He picked it up in one brown hand and sniffed it. “Is this s-some boche digestive aid? Have you got an upset st- stomach , my boy?”
    Cassagnac leaned forward and tossed his cigarette butt under Philby’s nose into the pink beer. “It was someone else’s,” he said in a bored tone. The waiter had walked up at Philby’s arrival, and now Cassagnac said to him in German, “Where is the brandy our friend ordered?” as he pointed at Hale. Turning to Philby, he added, “And for you, sir?”
    “A brandy as well. N-no, two glasses of b-brandy for me.” He squinted speculatively at Hale. “You can’t have flown here,” he said. “It was hard enough for me to get a f-flight into the Gatow airport, with our Soviet allies l-laying claim to all altitudes and all
    directions and all ow-hours for their own scanty flights. Did you d-drive down the hole? Is this more of J-Jimmie’s n-n-nonsense?” Less jovially, he asked, “What is the name and number of your passport here?”
    “The name on it?” asked Hale, certain that Theodora would not want Philby to know about the Conway identity. “My own name.” He tried to return Philby’s gaze as if he were expecting, instead of fearing, some further question.
    “We have thought it best,” said Cassagnac, “not to discuss our jobs.”
    Philby frowned at Hale for another moment, then turned to Cassagnac with a smile. “Oh, that’s all right, Andrew here is just a j-junior f-fetch-and-c-c— errand-boy , in my firm. A c-custodian, actually.” Then Philby glanced back at Hale with mock concern and smacked his forehead. “Oh, I say, I’m sorry—you’ve probably been h-hinting to your friends about b-big secret g-government work! I should have considered your—your fragile young man’s pride.”
    Hale took a deep breath, then just leaned back and smiled tiredly at Philby. “I’ll thank you to leave my fragile young man out of this.”
    Cassagnac laughed. “Doubtless he has no pride,” he said.
    Philby’s gaze fixed on the old Frenchman. “I’m Kim,” he said, reaching across the table to shake hands. “And you are … ?”
    “Louis Pasteur,” said Cassagnac, smiling.
    Philby nodded ponderously and swung his face toward Elena, opening his mouth as if to say something more in the same bantering tone; but then he just exhaled, frowning with what seemed to be surprised and tentative recognition. After two full seconds of staring at her, he closed his mouth, then looked away from her and said to Cassagnac, “And th-this lovely g-girl—is she your w-wife, Mr. Pasteur?”
    “Bless me, no!” said Elena suddenly. “Actually I am not married. My name is… Marie Curie.”
    The waiter walked up then with a tray and set one glass in front of Hale and two in front of Philby—who emptied one of the glasses in a single gulp.
    Hale’s breathing had suddenly gone shallow and a smile was tugging at his lips, and in his head her words were still echoing:
    Bless me, no! Actually I am not married .
    But Philby was still frowning at Elena, and now he said to her, abruptly, “Nineteen-forty… one! New Year’s Eve. I d-do remember you—viv-viva- vividly .” He smiled, then