. ’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. He glanced at his watch. I did not know what I was saying. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. Pancras,” she directed, promptly. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her.
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