“My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. Paintings sold off the walls. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. She formed a habit which embarrassed Spurlock greatly, but at first he dared not complain. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar.
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