But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. 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.
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