To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Gosse had come to Blaye, so he had said, feeling it his duty as the vicomte’s erstwhile secretary to deliver the fateful tidings, bringing with him one of the servant girls, Yolande, who had also escaped the fury of the mob.
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