‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. He was looking pale and ill. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. “You poor thing. A sacrifice. But he did not find the sword of monsieur le major, for this sergeant would have recognised it and told me that I am arrested again. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware.
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