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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. Not up here, I think. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. ‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch.
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