Ferrand sat in the garden outside of the French Embassy chapel on Greek Street, Soho. It was a refreshing change to the busy streets of the inner city and the trees lining the edges of the small patch of greenery muffled the noise from the surrounding area to an extent that he could almost think he was back in Trois-Rivieres. He'd given confession earlier, not that there was much to say, and talked to the father about the difficulties practising the faith in a Protestant country. It turned out they were much the same as his sister had said they'd been having back home.
Mass was tomorrow morning at six and then there was the Ambassador's ball afterwards, that would provide some opportunities hopefully, and he had that to prepare for tonight and tomorrow morning when he returned to his lodgings. For now though, he was simply content to enjoy the peace of the garden along with the few other folk who were present.
calm