*** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache.
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