Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. ‘Ah, the tragedy. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. Nothing at all. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. I trust that she will not misunderstand me.
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