Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. “He tried it. Drummond patted him on the shoulder. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times.
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