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. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. ’ ‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. You are not ‘Alcide.
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