The girl flushed a little.
"Nurse Bond is here too. I have my meals with her. But you see, monsieur, my mother died before I could toddle, and now that my father is dead there is only Morry, and he so soon wearies of the country."
"And you, Cousin Gabrielle? Do you not weary too?"
She smiled, fingering the long ends of her fichu.
"If I do it is not for town. I will not go, and that makes Morry angry. But—but—I could not breathe there if they are all like Morry's friends and Lady Helmington. However, it is of you I want to talk now, Jéhan. I want to hear of madame my aunt, and your sister, and why you have come, and, well—if you do not mind relating it—about the terrible Revolution which some in England say is good and right, but which makes me sick with horror."
De Quernais looked grim—an expression which ill-suited a face made for laughter.
"I do not think even your Pitt will hold back for long now," he replied. "You have heard of Paris, and the prisons?"
She shuddered.
"The September massacres? Oh, yes! The poor, poor Queen, and oh! that poor Princess."
"De Lamballe? A heroine, mademoiselle!"