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In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. “One would think I had said nothing about the matter. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. Strange, I could never learn her history. “So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. He was painfully in earnest, too.
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