‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. As such, you may command the sympathies of the gentry. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. It wasn’t. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. His smile faded. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own.
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