‘What we have to find out is whether or not the wretched female is in fact Lord Charvill’s granddaughter. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. He noticed the two chairs close together. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. ‘Do you think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told you?’ ‘That you need help. “Contrarily, you are sitting on a sepulcher of death! It 30 is only a matter of time before the Pestilence strikes here again, Gianfrancesco.
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