She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. Give me your name, girl!’ ‘Again?’ Mademoiselle rolled her eyes. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. This, then, must be the person whom he had seen spring upon the western platform at the time of the collision between the boats.
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