Chapter 13
We all knew Isobel's history. It had taken barely twenty minutes to tell it, but they had been twenty minutes of tragedy. We were all, I think, in different ways affected. Monsieur Feurg res alone sat back in his seat like a carved image, his face white and haggard, his deep-set eyes fixed upon vacancy. We felt that he had passed wholly away from the world of present things. He himself was lingering amongst the shadows of that wonderful past, upon which he had only a moment before dropped the curtain. He had told us to ask him questions, but I for my part felt that questions just then were a sacrilege. Arthur, however, seemed to feel nothing of this. It was he who took the lead. "Isobel, then," he said, "is the granddaughter of the King of Waldenburg, the only child of his eldest daughter
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