To compare me to a starving pig. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. He embraced her like her father once had. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling.
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