From what do you wish to be rescued?’ The girl fluttered her eyelashes, sighed dramatically and spread her hands. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Too late. It does not work, I still suffer madness. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “Never mind me. You will make her suffer. Besides, she had admitted her identity. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. You understand me, I’m sure.
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