She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. ‘A man who is false, who steals papers, who has a plot to take another’s name, who lies to the Mother Abbess and to me, and above all this—’ her voice near to breaking ‘—one who is French. . Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. Her thoughts took words for themselves. Then a surge of rage welled up.
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