She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. It is one of God’s laws that a woman may defend her honour, even with the shedding of blood. He was officially in the nun’s employ, but Melusine had commandeered his services immediately on the discovery that he had conceived a passion for her. He could think about it later. That was Leonardo’s motto. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. Almost the best of all. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say.
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