She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. “Where am I?” he muttered. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. It was a brief solitude, however. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. ‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it.
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