‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. The burden of decision had been transferred. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her.
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