She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. It felt too good. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. “Not much. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme.
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