’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. “For I know that you love Ennison. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré. "It is your son. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Somehow logic could not explain her. I was always used to it, and I think it gives quite a tone to an establishment. The fates are never so kind to me. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning.
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