Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. “I don’t see why not,” he answered. But you had better know the truth to start with. Lucy did her best to avoid talking about it, but the subject was beguiling, as it almost always brought news about him from the grapevine within which Michelle was intravenously entwined. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. He had something across his knees. Do sit down, dear boy. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. "Then it's all over with us. Saint Giles's Round-house.
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