‘This is not love, Marthe. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. “I do not understand. You mustn't go by what you read so much as by what you see and hear. Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. . ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald.
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