There was none. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. He was followed with equal celerity by Terence and the widow. Kneebone. ’ ‘Better than to live at the hands of a villainous blackmailer,’ Melusine threw at him. I’ll walk over there once I change clothes. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. No mercenary consideration influences me.
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