He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. ’ ‘The nuns?’ she said, gazing at him innocently. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. She auditioned and got a summer job teaching violin at the Mozart summer music camp for children, catching the luckiest of breaks. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. The note-passer lagged behind with her. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade.
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