The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill. I take the life out of men. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched. I’ve got to stay at home and remain in a state of suspended animation. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. The lady had disappeared.
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