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great deal of blood-shed.”
    Grania sighed.
    It all seemed so unnecessary and rather frightening.
    The Frenchman rose to his feet.
    “Will you excuse me for one moment while I speak to my servant? He must find out exactly how much danger there may be for you.”
    He walked away into the house and she stared after him.
    She could not help contrasting the lithe grace with which he moved with the uncouth unsteadiness of Roderick Maigrin.
    His hair which was dark and thick was pulled back into a neat bow set in the nape of his neck, and his cravat was crisp and fresh, the points of his collar high over his chin in the same manner as the Beaux of St. James’s wore theirs.
    His coat fitted without a wrinkle, his white cloth breeches revealed his slim attractive hips and his white stockings and buckled shoes were very smart.
    “He is a gentleman!” Grania told herself. “It is ridiculous to call him a pirate ... an outlaw of the seas!”
    The Frenchman came back.
    “My man and yours are sending people to find out exactly what is known of this revolution. But Abe assures me that the information he received last night and early this morning is absolutely reliable, and there is no doubt that the rebels are killing the English in Grenville where a hundred slaves took everybody in the town by surprise.”
    Grania gave a little murmur and he went on:
    “As usual, they have plundered store-houses, dragged the frightened inhabitants into the street, and set them up as marks to be shot at.”
    “Oh ... no!” Grania exclaimed.
    “Some escaped by swimming to the vessels that were tied up in the harbour. Others made their way south, and there were some who got as far as Maigrin House.”
    “Do you think ... all the slaves on the ... island will rise and join ... them?” Grania asked in a low voice.
    “We must wait and see,” the Frenchman replied. “If the worst comes to the worst, Mademoiselle, my ship is at your disposal.”
    “Do you think that will be a safe place to hide?”
    The Frenchman smiled.
    “It may be a case of ‘any port in a storm’.”
    “Yes, of course, but I am hoping that my father will join me today, and perhaps he will have other ideas of where we should go.”
    “Naturally,” the Frenchman agreed, “and I should imagine both you and your father, and doubtless also Mr. Maigrin, will be welcome in the Fort of St. George’s.”
    Grania could not disguise the expression in her eyes as he spoke of Roderick Maigrin.
    Instead of answering, she ate without speaking the delicious croissant which she had spread with butter and honey.
    There was silence. Then the Frenchman said:
    “I have been told, although of course it may be incorrect, that you are to marry Mr. Maigrin.”
    “Who told you that?”
    The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
    “I learnt that was intended before your father went to England to bring you home.”
    It flashed through Grania’s mind that even if her mother had lived her father might have insisted on his rights as her legal guardian and brought her back to Grenada.
    Then as she thought of Roderick Maigrin the revulsion she had felt for him last night swept over her again.
    Quite involuntarily without really thinking what she was saying she asked:
    “What can I ... do? How can I ... escape? I cannot ... marry that ... man!”
    The terror in her voice seemed to vibrate on the air and she was aware the Frenchman was staring at her intently, his dark eyes searching her face.
    Then he said:
    “I agree it is impossible for somebody like you to marry such a man, but it is not for me to tell you how you can avoid doing so.”
    “Then ... who else can I ... ask?” Grania said almost like a child. “I did not know until the very moment we arrived that that was what Papa ... intended, and now I am ... here I do not know ... what I can do ... or where I can ... hide from ... him.”
    The Frenchman put his knife down on the table with a little clatter.
    “That is your problem,