Sometimes she glanced fiercely down the rows of faces, bending forwards and staring unceremoniously.

And she would say in a low voice to Birkin: 'Who is that young man ?' 'I don't know,' Birkin answered discreetly.
'Have I seen him before ?' she asked.
'I don't think so.

I haven't,' he replied.

And she was satisfied.

Her eyes closed wearily, a peace came over her face, she looked like a queen in repose.