‘Please to sit, monsieur. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. ‘He isn’t Valade, and the Comtesse de St Erme is absolutely furious. I want to put myself into your hands. Spurling has induced him to sit down again.
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