‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. ‘You will please to tell this—this idiot to release me. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. Everything in this world changed—except human folly. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. ‘Come on, Hilary. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin.
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