The soldiers! They must not find her here. She despises me, I suppose. Do have another. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. He told some of the particulars. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance.
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