" The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. Gosse had come to Blaye, so he had said, feeling it his duty as the vicomte’s erstwhile secretary to deliver the fateful tidings, bringing with him one of the servant girls, Yolande, who had also escaped the fury of the mob. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. ” She said with a tone of defiance.
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