“Lady Isabella is so right,” Hugo said. “One should not speak of such things. For my part I endorse your suspicions that much but by no means all of the adulation you are receiving is not to be taken too seriously.”
“M’sieur Hugo has so much good sense,” Amé said admiringly. “Sometimes, when I come in late from a party at which I have danced with Princes and Ducs and where people have said such charming, though often very silly things to me, I go upstairs to my room and I open a drawer in my dressing table that is always kept locked. Do you know what is in there?”
“No, what?” Isabella asked.
“The clothes I wore when I left the Convent. The white dress and dark cloak, the things I had on when I climbed over the wall and crept through the open door into Monseigneur’s coach.”
Isabella gav
