‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. 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. “But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. The future was not so black. You may command my services at any time. Look at me, and answer me one question. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years.
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