‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. “Do it now. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. “So, Rhea must have known you for what you are.
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