She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. When Gianfrancesco came to call this time, she was excited and ready. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. I have always hated it. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. I was grounded for the last two weeks.
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