CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. It wasn’t pretty. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. “You, too,” he said abruptly. She would end alone. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. But he did not find the sword of monsieur le major, for this sergeant would have recognised it and told me that I am arrested again.
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