Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. We men are like children. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Gosse had come to Blaye, so he had said, feeling it his duty as the vicomte’s erstwhile secretary to deliver the fateful tidings, bringing with him one of the servant girls, Yolande, who had also escaped the fury of the mob. He says only that he must tie up all the loose ends.
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