In the
centre was a table, tastefully laid, and beyond it in a low chair a
young lady was seated, with a book in her hand. She rose as we entered,
and I saw that she was tall and slender, with a dark face, pronounced
features, and black eyes of extraordinary brilliancy. Even in that one
glance it struck me that the expression with which she regarded me was
by no means a friendly one.
'Sibylle,' said my host, and his words took the breath from my lips,
'this is your cousin from England, Louis de Laval. This, my dear
nephew, is my only daughter, Sibylle Bernac.'
'Then you--'
'I am your mother's brother, Charles Bernac.'
'You are my Uncle Bernac!' I stammered at him like an idiot. 'But why
did you not tell me so?' I cried.
'I was not sorry to have a chance of quietly observing what his English
education had done for my nephew. It might also have been harder for me
to stand your friend if my comrades had any reason to think that I was
personally interested in you. But you will permit me now to welcome you
heartily to France, and to express my regret if your reception has been
a rough one.
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