“This is Mistress Anne Woodford, sir,” said Charles, the next moment. “Allow me, madam, to present Mr. Fellowes, of Magdalen College.”
Anne held out her hand, and courtesied in response to the bow and wave of the shovel hat.
“How did you know that I was here?” she said.
“Doctor Woodford thought it likely, and begged us to come and see whether we could do anything for you,” said Charles; “and you may believe that we were only too happy to do so. A lady to whom we had letters, who is half English, the Vicomtesse de Bellaise, was so good as to go to the convent at Poissy and discover for us from some of the suite where you were.”
“My uncle—my dear uncle—is he well?”
“Quite well, when last we heard,” said Charles. “That was at Florence, nearly a month ago.”
“And all at Fareham, are they well?”
“All just as usual,” said Charles, “at the last hearing, which was at the same time. I hoped to have met letters at Paris, but no doubt the war prevents the mails from running.”
“Ah! I have never had a single letter,” said Anne. “Did my uncle know anything of me? Has he never had one of mine?”
“Up to the time when he wrote, last March, that is to say, he had received nothing. He had gone to London to make inquiries—”