But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “Yeah. “My name,” Anna replied calmly, “is certainly Pellissier, but I repeat that I do not know you.
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