But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. ‘You cannot be André Valade if you tell them I am one of this family. She still could not muster the strength to leave. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. Building announced solemnly. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene.
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