‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. “Is it your maid?” he asked. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head.
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