In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. ‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station. I got to have you under guard in the gatehouse, I can see that. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. In a sense I don’t care. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. His throat filled; he wanted to weep.
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