"No," she said.
"His father was a mercenary, a soldier of fortune, who somehow or other found his way to France, and married.
You must have noticed William's accent."
"I thought it Cornish."
"Cornishmen and Bretons are very much alike. Both are Celts.
I discovered William first running barefoot, with torn breeches, about the streets of Quimper.
He was in some scrape or other, which I managed to save him from.
From then he became one of the faithful.
He learnt English, of course, from his father.
I believe he lived in Paris for many years, before I fell in with him.
I have never delved into William's life history.
His past is his own."
"And why did William decline to become a pirate?"
"Alas! For a reason most prosaic, and unromantic.
William has an uneasy stomach.
The channel that separates the coast of Cornwall from the coast of Brittany is too much for him."
"And so he finds his way to Navron, which makes a most excellent hiding-place for his master?"
"Precisely."
"And Cornish men are robbed, and Cornish women go in fear for their lives, and more than their lives, so Lord Godolphin tells me?"
"The Cornish women flatter themselves."
"That is what I wanted to tell Lord Godolphin."
"And why did you not?"
"Because I had not the heart to shock him."
"Frenchmen have a reputation for gallantry which is entirely without foundation.
We are shyer than you give us credit for.
Here - I have finished your portrait."
He gave her the drawing, and leant back in his chair, his hands in the pockets of his coat.
Dona stared at the drawing in silence.
She saw that the face that looked up at her from the torn scrap of paper belonged to the other Dona - the Dona she would not admit, even to herself.
The features were unchanged, the eyes, the texture of the hair, but the expression in the eyes was the one she had seen sometimes reflected in her mirror, when she was alone.
Here was someone with illusions lost, someone who looked out upon the world from a too narrow casement, finding it other than she had hoped, bitter, and a little worthless.
"It is not very flattering," she said, at length.
"That was not my intention," he replied.
"You have made me appear older than I am."
"Possibly."
"And there is something petulant about the mouth."
"I dare say."
"And - and a curious frown between the brows."
"Yes."
"I don't think I like it very much."
"No, I feared you would not. A pity.
I might have turned from piracy to portraiture."
She gave it back to him, and she saw he was smiling.
"Women do not like to hear the truth about themselves," she said.
"Does anyone?" he asked.
She would not continue the discussion.
"I see now why you are a successful pirate," she told him, "you are thorough in your work.
The same quality shows itself in your drawings. You go to the heart of your subject."
"Perhaps I was unfair," he said. "I caught this particular subject unawares, when a mood was reflected in her face.
Now if I drew you at another time, when you were playing with your children, for example, or simply when you were giving yourself up to the delight of having escaped - the drawing would be entirely different.