Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. “I detest amateurs. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse.
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