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. When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home. It was 1582. Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you.
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