She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. “Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. I have just come from him. Cathy Beck was outraged. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough.
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