They are their mother’s sons. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. “How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert.
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