“Did you see any other?”
“Yes, the Dutchwoman who rules the kitchen.”
“And no one else?”
Alaine gave her head a toss. “You question too closely, Monsieur Pierre; beyond your right, and beyond what I choose to answer.” She dimpled and smiled as she looked up into his grave face. “Mère Michelle warned me of speaking too minutely of my experiences. I take her advice.” She walked away. Pierre followed her a few steps.
“Alaine, Alainette,” he called, softly.
She paused under the shadows of the trees. He came close and said, slowly, “I have not the right to question you, Alaine, but I love you, Alaine. I love you.”
She sighed and glanced at him from under her long lashes. “Papa Louis and Mère Michelle have designed to marry me to Gerard.”
“And Gerard?”
“Loves Mathilde better.”
“Mathilde?”