‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. " "Ay, ay," cried the jailers, laughing.
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