“What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. Grace à Leonardo, she could defend herself now! Gosse was still attempting to manhandle the door, when she turned the key and wrenched it open. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. I will give you all some tea, and then I must leave you for a few minutes. It is so that I may marry an Englishman. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired.
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