Such stories were increasingly heard in English society. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. It might prove rewarding.
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