Perceiving that argument on this point would be fruitless, Sir Tristram merely looked sceptical and refrained from speech.
“A Frenchman,” said Eustacie, “would understand at once.”
“I am not a Frenchman,” replied Sir Tristram.
“ Ça se voit! ” retorted Eustacie.
Sir Tristram served himself from a dish of mutton steaks and cucumber.
“The people whom I have met in England,” said Eustacie after a short silence, “consider it very romantic that I was rescued from the Terror.”
Her tone suggested strongly that he also ought to consider it romantic, but as he was fully aware that Sylvester had travelled to Paris some time before the start of the Terror, and had removed his granddaughter from France in the most unexciting way possible, he only replied: “I dare say.”
“I know a family who escaped from Paris in a cart full of turnips,” said Eustacie. “The soldiers stuck their bayonets into the turnips, too.”
“I trust they did not also stick them into the family?”
“No, but they might easily have done so. You do not at all realize what it is like in Paris now. One lives in constant anxiety. It is even dangerous to step out of doors.”