In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Not then. "I have dreamed that I shall see him before I die," she rejoined. ” She paused again. He carried a small bag. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. ’ Grudgingly, the sergeant shifted aside and allowed her access to the stairs, grumbling to her retreating back, ‘If I’d me way, missie, I’d send you back to France where you ought never to have come away from, if you arst me.
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