A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. In his desire to be emphatic and to avenge himself for his over-night distresses, he speedily became brutal, more brutal than she had ever known him before. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue.
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