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Updated: June 26, 2025
Sir Thorald lay very still under the sheets, the crucifix on his breast. At first Jack thought he was dead, but the slight motion of the chest under the sheets reassured him. He turned to Alixe: "Go for a minute and comfort Lorraine," he whispered. "Go, my child." "I I cannot " "Go," said Sir Thorald, in a distinct voice. When she had gone, Jack bent over Sir Thorald.
Up-stairs little Alixe was sobbing herself to sleep in Barbara's arms; in his own chamber the old vicomte paced to and fro, and to and fro, and his sweet-faced wife watched him in silence, her thin hand shading her eyes in the lamplight. In the next room Sir Thorald and Lady Hesketh sat close together, whispering.
"There'll be work for him, too," she said. "We need a man there. He can do a deal of the heavier work be porter you know. I can't offer him very much, but it will help some." Mrs. Thorald accepted for both, and considered Diantha as a special providence. There was to be cook, and two capable second maids.
Alixe caught his arm, her head turned towards the road where the infantry were crowding past at double-quick, enveloped in a whirling torrent of red dust. "There is a cart there," she said. "Oh, Jack, find it quickly! The driver is on the seat and I can't leave Sir Thorald."
Once he stopped an officer on the stairway and asked for a priest, but, remembering that Sir Thorald was Protestant, turned away with a vague apology and resumed his objectless wandering. At times he fancied he heard cannon, so far away that nothing of sound remained, only a faint jar on the night air.
"Dorrie," said Jack, "Sir Thorald and Lady Hesketh think that we all should start for Paris by the early train. They have already sent some of our trunks to Saint-Lys; Mademoiselle de Nesville" he turned with a gesture almost caressing to Lorraine "Mademoiselle de Nesville has generously offered her carriage to help transport the luggage, and she is going to wait until it returns."
"What?" "See what others don't." Sir Thorald, a trifle disconcerted, applied himself to caviare and, later, to a bottle of Moselle. "She's a beauty, they say " began Ricky, and might have continued had he not caught the danger-signal in Molly Hesketh's black eyes. "Lorraine de Nesville," said Lady Hesketh, "is only a child of seventeen. Her father makes balloons."
"Ricky, my son," said Sir Thorald, "you probably gallop better than you row. Who ever heard of an Uhlan in a boat? Molly, take his oars away." "Ricky shall row me if he wishes," replied Molly Hesketh; "and you do, don't you, Ricky? Thorald will set you on shore if you want." "I have no confidence in Uhlan officers," said her spouse, darkly.
But, except for the chaperons, the unmarried people did well enough, as unmarried people usually do when let alone. So, on that cloudless day of July, 1870, Rickerl von Elster sat in the green row-boat and tugged at the oars while Sir Thorald smoked a cigar placidly and Lady Hesketh trailed her pointed fingers over the surface of the water.
She looks pale and ill the excitement in the city and that horrid National Guard keep our nerves on edge every moment. Sir Thorald is away on business, she says where, I forgot to ask her. I saw the Empress driving in the Bois yesterday. Some ragamuffins hissed her, and I felt sorry for her. Oh, if men only knew what women suffer! But don't think I am suffering.
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