It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. ‘I do not command your services, mon major.
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