To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. “Why?” He inquired. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. “In the event of his death we should require you at once to attend at the inquest. ‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. We have that gift. The thing is done.
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