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“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. ’ Gerald eyed her. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. ‘Parbleu, is this a moment to be out of town? What is the matter with him that he is out of town when I need him?’ ‘Famous!’ uttered a new voice from the doorway. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin.
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