ABSTRACT
‘So you are going to be a vestal, mademoiselle,’ said Madame Pisa-Vitri, speaking in French, to our heroine as they sat together in the former’s private apartments at the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross, months after the conversation of the preceding chapter, on a raw and foggy afternoon in the beginning of December. ‘What, may I ask, will be the duties of the office?’
