She could not stir hand or foot. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room.
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